Unsung Bard Tales
by TaciturnWatcher
Summary: Bards sing about fire-breathing Dragons, warring mythical races, and magnificently bloody combat. But sometimes, it is the most humble of stories that ends up making the best song.
1. Ebony and Leather

**Ebony and Leather**

* * *

"I would even sell one of my own relatives!"

"That's nice."

"No really! If you've got the coin, I'll bargain just about anyth-"

"That's all I have Belethor."

The Breton looked perplexed for a moment, pawing at his squared chin. He quickly regained his cheerful demeanor. "Well, come back anytime, all right? Maybe once you're old enough you can purchase some of my finest Nord mea- "

"I really am sixteen years."

Belethor seemed to internally laugh at this. "Sure, sure..."

Belethor's customer had not waited long enough to see the trademark farewell smile however, already making his way out of the store, leather straps lightly slapping the ground in synchronized beats. His brown, tattered armor squeaked as continued his exit out of the spacious but dusty shop. Small but thick beams of sunlight gratefully snuck in as the boy began pushing the wood away from him, revealing a sixteen year old head with long dark locks that masked a sharp but youthful Nord face.

"Bring more coin next time boy!"

He snarled, or at least tried to - before shoving the thick door outwards and stepped into the blinding sunlight, holding up a hand to keep the brunt of the lumination at bay. Almost immediately, he was met with a familiar voice.

"You know what's wrong with Skyrim these days?"

"Shut up."

It was the only apt response after all. Jon had been repeating that particular line of dialogue to everyone the boy had seen - including himself. He had half a mind to smack him right across his pointedly elvish-looking face, but quickly decided against this as he stayed wary of the jagged glints of silver and steel resting lazily - albeit firmly - at Jon's sides. He might be a poet or writer (or whatever else he proclaimed to be) just as easily he could be a battle-hardened, steel-munching, arrow-shooting maniac. Such personas often passed through Whiterun, and no one had acted anywhere near as noticeable as Jon was being.

"Are you going to buy something, or just stand around staring at the sky like a diseased horse?"

The boy handily grabbed two cabbage heads and tossed a few coins in the way of the offensive marketplace woman. _What was her name again..._ he chuckled. Immediately, he swiveled to focus on the massive twin door frames sitting authoritatively at the entrance of the city, walking quickly towards them.

The sunlight was making it unnecessarily difficult to get around Whiterun. Although it could be argued that the residents of Skyrim would be grateful for some heat in their region, it also meshed poorly with the high clouds and sporadically bounced around as the sky tilted and swayed to scatter the light. Worse however, was the sheer variability in how each day could go - some swelteringly hot, others incredibly cold, with some moderate days arriving every now and then. In this sense, he felt thankful that it was relatively temperate today.

The boy stopped just short of pushing past the main gates and stared behind him at the carefully organized chaos of the city he had yet to call home - marketplaces bustling with angry but determined customers, shops littered strategically around hubs of activity, and of course the omnipresent city guards monitoring all of it.

Standing much farther away from the center of all the commotion, there was also a powerfully erect castle sitting atop a tall flight of stairs. The entire building was wrapped around an harsh, stony cliff that was dotted with Talos artifacts and priests.

 _Dragonsreach_ , as it was appropriately titled, might as well be only reachable by dragonback. Every time the boy had even attempted to move close to the foot of the stairs, he had been roughly shoved backwards by a displeased guard - usually much taller than himself, stocky, bearded, and almost always some sort of Nord nationalist. This was made doubly awkward by the fact that the boy was a Nord himself, and thus all the guard's insults seemed completely misguided.

"Beautiful, isn't she?"

The boy broke out of his temporary trance, shifting his focus away from the gates and to the guard standing beside him. Had he really daydreamed all the way to the city exit already?

"I suppose so," he responded to the armored figure, who was still admiring the view of the city. "If you like that sort of thing."

The guard snorted, setting both of his mitted hands down on the hilt of his sword in an inviting, but still somewhat cocky fashion. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

The boy backtracked. "Sorry. I'm just irritated that I don't have a place inside the city - _yet_."

"By the - " the guard started. "Really? I mean it's to be expected, Whiterun hasn't had a house available in ages... and even Breezehome was taken by - "

"Yes, I know."

The guard suddenly seemed more alert and serious, glancing both ways before gesturing for the boy to come closer.

"I hear it's a woman," the guard muttered, still keeping his gaze oscillating. The youth found this frantic searching hilarious, but chose once again to be considerate of his surroundings.

"Can you believe that? A female _Dohvakiin_?"

Yes he could. Female warriors had been present since the dawn of Time, only they hadn't been quite as famous as their male counterparts.

"I mean I can't even think of a female warrior that has been so famous..." the guard continued, misjudging the boy's silence for intense interest. "Well except for Aela anyway. But she keeps to herself. Have you met her?"

"No," the boy tersely answered, before trying to make it obvious that he was trying to leave. "Listen, I have got to run a few errands right now and I'd really appreciate - "

"Yes! Yes! Of course, no problem at all!" the guard finally acquiesed, embarassment flushing his tone. "Have a good day! May the - "

 _Oddly cheerful for a guard_ , the boy thought, drowning the guard's speech out with his internal monologue. He turned back to the double gates.

His next feeling was one of immense pain. In his absentmindedness, he had failed to avoid the gates swinging violently towards him. In fact, they had been pushed back with significant force from the other end - enough actually to launch the boy right into the guard once more as he clumsily tripped over his boots and fell flat on his face. His first instinct was to cough out all the dust that had immediately shot through his throat, but another instinct told him to simply wait and observe what had happened. Out of the corner of his eye, the boy saw the talkative guard quickly right himself. A flurry of voices broke out.

"Move citizens!"

"Dohvakiin!"

"Make way, make way!"

"Come on then, move out of the way!"

A small entourage of six heavily armored and large warriors stood protectively around a pale white stallion. The horse itself seemed to want to move forward, but was being stopped by the deft control of the figure riding atop it. The form was clad in shining ebony plates, neck encircled by an oddly shaped but glowing necklace. The armor was slimmer than usual ebony-forged plates, but seemed resilient enough to outshine the six steel sets being worn around it.

He noted how the entrance of the group was helped by the giant doors to either side of them. They framed the travelers perfectly - just within the view of a crowd growing quickly nearby.

The talktative guard's tone was now uncharacteristically harsh. "Get up boy! It's the Dohvakiin!"

The boy awkwardly stood up, nearly crushed by the force of the people now clammering to get closer to the white stallion, which itself was being sequestered into a corner by the large warriors acting as a buffer between the people and their armor-clad, horseback-riding leader.

"The Dragonborn is not fit to see anyone today! She is tired from a long battle with Orcs all the way from Riften!"

"What?"

"Orcs?!"

"Riften!?"

He judged that it was quite stupid of the onlookers to merely repeat the words that the warriors were saying instead of asking substantiative questions. Feeling a need to finish the task at hand, he wound the two cabbages more tightly to his leather torso and effortlessly squeezed past the crowd and began the small journey down the steps exiting the city. A great advantage to being young in Skyrim was sheer mobility - he might not be able to handle most men in a fight (or some women, for that matter), but he was more than capable of escaping from tight spaces. Ensuing voices of disapproval and loud cheers with intermingled applause simultaneously broke out and disoriented him, but finally he stumbled away and was outside the city. By now he couldn't even see the horse or its guarding warriors, just the figure perched atop as it rotated its gaze from citizen to citizen. The boy took a final glance at the still-growing mass of people before beginning the walk down the steps separating city and Skyrim.

"Boy!"

This particular shout was so radically different than the other random howls that the youth reflexively turned back, despite being literally at the edge of the steps. The tone seemed to exist in a jumble of contradictions: distinctively feminine, yet worn and gruff - kindly inquisitive but altogether demanding. The boy swiveled to see the ebony-clad figure positioned directly at him, still shielded by her own circle of warriors and an even larger circle of commoners. Even the _horse_ seemed intrigued.

Evidently, this shout was noticed by the crowd. The citizens, once cheerful and vivid, now stood incredibly still and silenced themselves. The boy watched as multiple pairs of calculating eyes evaluated him and went back to the Dragonborn, zipping back and forth with dizzying speed.

The figure on the white horse tilted to the side slightly, almost curiously, before speaking again. "Where are you going?"

The boy felt strangely uncomfortable in the midst of this perfect silence, a literal city completely quiet and waiting for a response.

He straightened his armor, appearing to act dignified.

"No disrespect to you, Dragonborn," the boy breathed out, bowing his head lightly so he was spared looking at anyone. "I was merely on my way home."

The figure, still practically unreadable in the stitched dark armor, waited a moment before issuing a rebuttal. "So you have no wish to speak to me?"

"No no no no, of course I wish to!" the boy quickly reiterated, silently cursing himself over his own hypocrisy. "It is only that I, need to – stitch up my armor."

It was such an poor lie that the citizens staring at him did doubles takes of their own, narrowing their eyes as if questioning whether the boy had really tried to lie to the Dragonborn. A few moments of silence ensued, before the crowd burst into racuous bouts of laughter. The fact that he was young, holding two cabbages under his arm, and looking awkwardly in front of him did nothing to help his situation.

"Idiot! Sure, repair your useless armor!"

"Young'uns these days lying through their teeth - probably half-drunk..."

"You're saying your armor is more important than the Dragonborn?"

"Cabbage-boy! Try to think of another story next time to cover up the whole 'One too many bottles of mead' story!"

It slightly irked him that the Dragonborn was doing nothing to stop this. Instead, the armored form atop the now irritated horse sat in silence and bowed her head. With the faceplate covering her, the boy could not tell if she was laughing along with the crowd, or simply unwilling to break the joy of so many people.

In either case, he turned his back on the group of laughing citizens, scratching at his face and lightly stubbled goatee to hide his embarassment . The boy paced away from the center of the commotion, catching a fleeting glance at the Dragonborn as she watched him go before turning back to the eager crowd.

He kept walking. A good metric that he could use to tell himself he was getting close to home was when the when the sounds of the city began to die down. Skyrim itself seemed indifferent to the arrival of the Dragonborn, with vast stretches of grassland for the most part continuing their regular motions. Weeds and flowers danced idly along with the weak breeze as the sun neared its peak. Wispy cloud patterns soared and floated gently through the air in steady migration – and unfortunately for the boy, such temperate climate also meant that he would likely be working a double shift with Skulvar, who was probably already angry that the boy had taken so long to complete his errand.

Speaking of which, the signpost of the Whiterun Stables was clearly popping into his view now, swaying lightly as the light wind rocked it gently on its hinges. The boy ducked underneath the post to approach the middle-aged Nord standing in the middle of the stables alongside two beautiful black mares, fur rippling as he stroked them gently. Thankfully, Skulvar himself seemed unaware of his arrival.

"Skulvar," the boy spoke mildly, retreating under the shade of the center stable with the Nord in question. "Got it."

The boy genially handed the cabbages over to Skulvar, who took them without hesitation or analysis like usual - which aroused some suspicion from the boy.

"Did you see the Dragonborn?" Skulvar eagerly asked as he took the food and shoved it hastily under a chest to his left. "How did he look like?"

"Couldn't tell," the boy replied with a sigh, suspicion disappearing. " _She_ was in full armor. Couldn't even see her face."

"So it _is_ a _she_ then?"

The boy nodded in confirmation, lightly running his fingers over the backs of one of the mares. "These are nice. How old?"

"Six and seven," Skulvar rattled off. "Don't change the subject. I can't believe I wasn't there! I should do more of my own errands from time to time - "

The boy chuckled in response, as Skulvar continued. "Did you pawn off the necklace?"

"Yes," the boy again confirmed. "Belethor gave me an earful about it."

"Yes, well he has a tendency to - oh! I almost forgot!" Skulvar gesticulated for the boy to follow him.

Confused but interested, he followed Skulvar to the same chest the cabbages were in, watching as the Nord grasped and opened his palm to reveal a pair of lightly constructed, thin bands of leather looped across his fingers. Inscribed within the straits of hide were a few words. _Brom Ven_.

"Take it," Skulvar gestured, lightly pushing the bracers into the grasp of the boy. "I even had your name put on. I hear too many people in the city calling you 'Boy!' instead of your rightful name."

Brom stared at the dismally crafted bracers in mild disappointment. It almost seemed as if Skulvar had intended to make a helmet first, then realized it was not feasible and decided to make bracers instead. He perfectly understood that he was supposed to express gratitiude, but it was so poorly constructed that he wondered that if he tried to thank Skulvar, he might end up guffawing in his employer's face.

"Well, let us just say that..." Brom forced out, considering his next words, "...I am happy you are not a blacksmith."

That proved to be the right approach as Skulvar snorted and smiled, patting Brom on the back before walking back into his own house.

"You should be grateful I am not, or you wouldn't even have a few septims to your name!" Skulvar announced jokishly before disappearing through a door.

Brom twiddled the bracers in his fingers before slumping into a rough hay cot, situated just to the right of the older black mare. It was not so much that Skulvar meant it, but it was more that the truth of the statement was painfully obvious. Only because of Skulvar had he even afforded to rent out this horrible cot – which was placed adjacent to horse manure. It had taken weeks to find this job, and Brom had promised himself ages ago that _this_ would not end with him being thrown out of the stables.

The appluase in the far-away distance was clearly re-energizing. Brom moved his head away from the loud noise and subsequently found himself staring right into a rather large pit of manure. Black flies, previously quite scared of his presence, now buzzed more bravely towards him, settling on his head and face despite Brom shaking both as hard as he could.

Instinctively, he threw the bracers into the biggest mass of flies he could find - this was pointless however, as they merely split apart to let the projectile through. Brom forced his eyes shut, turning again and again on both sides of his body as the flies continued to buzz more passionately than ever before.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **WARNING: FIRST AUTHOR'S NOTE VERY LONG - BUT IT'S JUST TO INFORM NEW READERS WHETHER TO SPEND TIME ON THIS STORY OR NOT. NO SPOILERS.**

 _*Brom Ven apparently means North Wind in Dragon tongue, according to a web search._

 _First chapter in a slow-build, character-centered story. Don't wanna spoil anything yet, but will feature lots of adventure traveling and hopefully some good narrative drama. Plot progression will hopefully be natural, unpredictable, and interesting._

 _R/R always appreciated and encouraged. Thanks for your view and support!_

 _~TWa (TaciturnWatcher, get it?)_

 _EDIT/UPDATE: For all new readers: it's a quite lengthy story, I make a lot of callbacks, and it really is a sort of drama/suspense driven narrative - there will be action, but the primary focus will be exploring characterization and plot more than cool action sequences. And it really is a slow-build - it takes a while for the story to get going (deliberate), but hopefully it remains interesting throughout. Just so that you know right now whether this is worth your time or not..._

 _That being said, I tried to create as serious, heartfelt, and realistic a tale as possibly I could - so if you're still reading (and want to read more), thanks!_

 _EDIT/UPDATE 2: For all new readers, the story is quite intimately told and there's a great deal of focus on a few characters at a time, needless to say this isn't one of those grand "climactic battle and saving the world" tales, but then again you probably knew that already from the title. I think my writing style has improved a lot since the first chapter as well, so please feel free to read more and evaluate my merit! (or lack thereof)_

 _EDIT/UPDATE 3: For all new readers - story events snowball together and there's plenty of details that are significant; and I try to build these with continuity as the story progresses..._

 _EDIT/UPDATE 4: For all new readers - as you can see in the first chapter alone, I use the Author's Notes as a way to communicate to readers where I think the story's heading so far - there's absolutely no spoilers, but I do tend to explain some hard to understand things - so if you don't want those little "hints"/"random rants", feel free to skip them - they don't add any content to the story, only serve as an insight into my mind when writing that particular chapter._

 _EDIT/UPDATE 5: For all new readers - it really does take a while for the ball to get moving... so try not to judge the first chapter as indicative of the whole story! What you think is happening now (trust me) is both completely different but also similar to what happens later on in the story. So - give it a chance! (I implore you to)_

 _But in my opinion, all this makes for some (hopefully) moving characterization and story lines._

 _P.P.S: M rating might not seem obvious at first - you might have to read some - a lot more to get why._


	2. Search and Resist

**Search and Resist**

* * *

Brom had been able to sleep through all sorts of horrible conditions - rain, sleet, snow, and even in a downed tree log as a sabercat hungrily scratched at the outside.

This however, was pure torture.

What gave these flies such amazing bravery? If the Holds of Skyrim had employed these flies as guards, there would be no crime at all within any of the major cities. Brom also noted that each time he rolled over on one side, a fat scout would come and bother him at the nose, diverting him from dealing with the smaller ones which then perched atop his head while he battled with the bigger fly. Strategic planning, coordinated attacks, and a surprisingly agile and brave team all were synonymous with traveling warriors fitted in dragonplate armor - not pesky insects.

Brom waited carefully for the fat fly to land on his nose. Taking the bait, it settled peacefully on the edge of his nostrils, clearly still alert and waiting for the prompt swat.

It never came.

Brom had begun to think strategically. Instead of swatting it away, he calmly waited for a few seconds, deluding the fly into a sense of comfort as it confusingly jittered on his nose. Then, as quickly as possible, he swung his fist as hard as he could into his own nose.

This came with a piercing pain as Brom felt soft flesh crumple underneath his fist, but felt better after also feeling the tiny insect be crushed under his middle knuckle.

"YES! VICTORY IS MINE! TO SOVNGARDE YOU BASTARD!" he roared.

Immediately he wished he could take that line back. The cool night darkness was suddenly interrupted by the angry, tall frame of Skulvar thrusting open his door. He stood irritated and half-dazed, bright yellow lantern clutched sleepily in hand.

"BE QUIET YOU FOOL!"

Brom bit his lips in shyness and turned his face away from Skulvar, who had retreated back into his home. He waited several moments before peeking furtively above the stable's wooden posts, making sure the Nord was well inside and listened hard for creaking as Skulvar's heavy frame laid down on the aging bed. Brom had advised him to get a new one many times, even offering a few septims of his own at one point, but the Nord's dogged refusal to change anything about himself lead the boy to give up the effort early on.

But more pressingly, Brom realized that he was in fact losing his battle against the flies. Despite their leader now decorating the outside of Brom's fist, they fought back with a re-energized buzzing that Brom had not seen before. Worse, his nose had begun to bleed profusely as the warm liquid pooled horribly in his own palms. Exasperated and defeated, he jumped to his feet and stepped out into the misty black darkness while holding his head upright to keep the blood flow downwards. He pinched the nostrils firmly with a hand, hoping to stem the worst of the injury. Unfortunately, his fiddling was not left unnoticed, as the older horse behind him began to neigh and stir its head in frustration.

Thinking quickly, he motioned towards it and soothed it by rubbing its head and relieving the muffle. "Shh, Shh, it's all right now..."

The horse seemed considerate of his words, again drifting into sleep.

Brom moved away from the stables and shivered as the stronger breezes made their way past him, battering him with fierce gusts. Wrapping his free arm around his torso, Brom made his way atop a ladder fixated behind the stables and climbed on top of the roof - out of the fly group's vicious reach and high enough to not disturb the horses, or Skulvar for that matter.

He smiled as he hugged himself more tightly and blew warm, inviting air into his hands then rubbed them to increase the effect.

It was on midnights like these that he was perfectly capable of lucid thought - daytime was too filled with activity and work, and early nighttime and dawn had too many people lurking about to be able to think about anything. Met by the freezing hostility and unforgiving coldness of night, Brom could also plan out tomorrow - or think about yesterday. Midnight to him was a unique precipice of time - neither today nor tomorrow, but somewhere awkwardly stuffed in between, waiting for the next event to arrive and the current day to end.

"Should have joined the Bards College..." he whispered under his breath.

As usual, he spent his time scanning the vast landscape for sources of light. It was oddly therapeutic for him, and this scenario also gave him an opportunity to keep the blood flow in his nose moving constantly.

The Honningbrew Meadery shone more strongly than the ruined tower in the distance, the colossal giant's fire even more so, with the stables providing an odd type of blinking beacon in contrast to the other two.

He took particular joy when his gaze moved to shimmering Whiterun - devoid of activity for the most part - but still swimming in a sea of odd noises and people grunting as the beggars and drunkards lazed about in darkened segments of the city. These sorts of sounds were only audible at night, when the commotion of life had died down.

As usual, Dragonsreach intrigued him the most. Practically bursting with light and commotion that could be heard even from down in the stables, the castle appeared to sway and move along with all the inferior light sources that reflectively cast their presence on Dragonsreach itself. Even the _stars_ seemed to be desperate to donate a portion of their light to it.

 _They can't even compare_ , Brom thought. Comparing the stars to Dragonsreach was like comparing rotten apples to a single, golden, very soft sweet roll.

 **. . .**

"This is, without a doubt, the _worst_ sweet roll I have ever tasted in my life."

It was entirely true. Of all the Holds she frequented in Skyrim, Whiterun was notorious for producing sweet rolls with tastes reminiscent of dried troll fat. It was so horrible in fact, that she felt no fear in telling this bit of information to perhaps the only person in Whiterun who would dare oppose her word.

"Nonsense," Jarl Balgruuf replied, taking a meaty chunk out of the roll himself and stuffing it into his face. "That's just Elvish rumors. Our sweet rolls are no better or worse than any other Hold's, surely you know that by now, _Dohvakiin._ "

The Dragonborn of note laughed heartily before wiping bits of sugar and bread off her still shining ebony armor. "It's Lydia. I think we've known each other long enough for - "

"Again all nonsense you speak," Balgruuf cut her short. "I can't give up formalities just yet. I'm only half drunk... and the environment still hasn't been disrupted by Proventus' intoxicated rages yet."

Lydia nodded in agreement. True to form, Proventus Avennicci was downing his third or fourth mead in perhaps two hours – and clearly hadn't learnt from the past. And, like Balgruuf had mentioned, the splendor of Dragonsreach still remained untouched and unbroken - tall walls draped with fine golden banners, the room buttressed with strong cylindrical pillars, and even the elegant silverware had remained mostly unscathed. All of the gathering's members - Lydia included - would occasionally stop all the movement and gaze intently at the flickering fire. Most of the residents of the reception were dressed in posh clothing with ornate trims, but a few remained stubbornly in heavy armor.

"So you might wonder why I'm here talking to you in this 'welcoming reception' instead of - let's say, anyone else?"

Lydia turned to face the Jarl once more, who was waiting for a reply. Smirking, she chose sarcasm. "Anyone else meaning - Irileth?"

Balgruuf chortled. "I have _more_ friends than just Irileth."

"Name three - "

"Easy! Fa-"

"- who are _not_ part of your court or the Whiterun defense."

The Jarl gulped another glass of wine in defeat, choosing not to answer her question. With a triumphant smile, she prodded him with an armored finger.

"How sad," she quipped, mock-frowning at his aged eyes. "The Jarl of Whiterun has no friends, nor family, or - "

"Be gone with you woman," Balgruuf spat. "I have many acquaintances. Besides, are you not the one still dressed in full armor with just your helmet off? You clearly look like you don't want to be here."

Lydia opened her mouth in shock, realization flooding to her.

"Is that why you came yapping to me?" she inquired, playfully punching Balgruuf on the shoulder. "Because I seemed _lonely_?"

"I went here because you seemed like you needed it," Balgruuf answered, rubbing his shoulder ruefully. "I know that those Riften orcs took many of your companions with them to Sovngarde."

Lydia felt a surge of discomfort and tried to hide it behind a quick smack of the lips and drinking more wine.

"You couldn't have done anything," Balgruuf whispered, offering a weak smile of comfort. "They were too far away to receive the reinforcements in time."

"Yes, I suppose so..." Lydia mused, scratching at her nose and brows before again speaking. "So you can understand why I'm not in the mood for celebration right now."

"I figure then that all of these preparations - " and Balgruuf gestured to the entire room full of singing, dancing, or otherwise active people.

"-was a complete waste of time." Lydia finished for him. "Yes. I'm sorry."

Balgruuf shrugged it off. "No matter. Some days are better than others. Trust me, the pain of losing close warriors will pass."

Lydia agreed for the most part, but this did nothing to quell the deep-seated feeling of guilt again raging away at her insides.

Balgruuf, visibly discomfited by Lydia's silence, attempted to change the subject. "So, when will you be leaving us?"

She felt even more miserable upon the thought of leaving her most trusted Hold and perhaps location of her closest allies, but responded anyway. "In a week's time. We would leave sooner, but we need to find a horseman experienced enough to come along with us."

"Why is that?" Balgruuf inquired.

"I've received word of a particularly large Frost Dragon terrorizing the citizens of Solitude," Lydia stated. "The entire city. Not even a small farm or mountain crevice. And it seems resilient to even daedric arrows."

Balgruuf looked confused. "What's the use for the horseman then? Seems like a very basic task..."

She raised her eyebrows in equal amusement. " _Basic_?"

"...for you."

Lydia smiled, then continued. "Apparently some new tax in Solitude has made citizens more distrustful of the Empire and some avoid paying it entirely... and as a consequence, the roads, buildings, even the markets suffer."

"The slow death of Solitude..." Balgruuf remarked.

Lydia shook her head. "And this dragon thing is not making life any easier. All the other Holds are losing faith in the city."

"As they would," Balgruuf announced. "As I hear this, even I become wary."

"Don't breathe a word of any of my thoughts to anyone Balgruuf," Lydia cautioned, pulling the older man gently by the beard. "If word gets out that Solitude is unstable, the Empire might become unstable as faith runs low."

Balgruuf narrowed his eyes and moved his beard out of her grasp. "You... support the Imperial cause then?"

Lydia clenched her jaw in frustration. She wasn't entirely sure what was the purpose of the question was, and Balgruuf was never one to belie intentions then ask a harmless but actually quite serious question. To her discontent, the Jarl remained unreadable once more.

"I'm for order and stability," she let out eventually, remaining neutral in expression. "I don't care whether it's Tullius or Ulfric who ends up on the proverbial throne, as long as it doesn't break down as soon as they sit on it."

Balgruuf nodded in agreement. "So you were saying about the horseman?"

Lydia seemed grateful to return to this topic. "Well, yes. The roads are horrible and dangerous to traverse, and half of my current group are too young and inexperienced to effectively ride in such harsh conditions. They'll need tutelage - "

"- on their way there," Balgruuf completed for her. "I'd imagine you'd also need someone experienced enough with horses to navigate the safest path to travel."

Lydia smiled and complimented the Jarl. "Exactly."

"I see," Balgruuf continued. "Why not a carriage for the lot of you? Surely _you_ , of all people, can spare some septims."

Lydia again shook her head. "I need someone experienced with horses and navigating pathways exclusively _for_ horses. We can't travel on foot. The carriage-rider would need to be a horseman to be of much help to us."

The Jarl twitched his eye in annoyance. "I don't understand. What's the need for someone who specifically works with horses? You just need to cross safely, right?"

"Balgruuf," Lydia began, looking the Jarl straight in the eyes. "From the edge of the mountain to Solitude are roads. Roads that are simply now in far too poor of a shape to actually use. Nature has retaken most of the routes to Solitude. Crossing it by foot would take at least twice the time."

"And you don't have that time?"

Lydia chuckled. "Not at the moment. I have something to attend to afterwards. I'll talk about it somewhere more private.

Balgruuf slowly nodded his head in understanding then coughed, and set down his fifth glass of wine. Lydia had noticed that throughout the whole conversation he seemed to subconsciously go for more wine, despite being completely engrossed in her stories.

"But wouldn't this mean the survival of your entire group would remain on the decisions taken by the horseman?" Balgruuf queried.

Lydia sadly nodded. "It would. Which is why I don't expect to leave for some time. I need to trust the person completely before leaving. I will not lose more lives under my watch."

Balgruuf blinked twice, noting Lydia's guilt-ridden face reappear.

"That's enough serious talk," he stated, nudging Lydia lightly on the arm to have her look four paces to her right. "Look, Proventus has started."

Lydia grinned broadly as she saw the lean but quivering form of Proventus, hurling glasses and goblets at anyone who dared to cross him. Several guards had unsuccessfully attempted to escort him into his quarters, but Proventus had merely taken their hands and danced rather poorly with them until they forced themselves away from him.

"He's quite good," Lydia breathed out between tight-lipped giggles, keeping an eye on Proventus as he pirouetted carelessly and knocked patrons over. "Where did he learn that?"

"Truth be told, I have no idea," Balgruuf responded, scratching at his temple in mock thought. "Maybe as you're the Dragonborn, he is the Bardborn."

Lydia cackled wildly, unwillingly knocking over two glasses next to her. "That doesn't even make sense!"

"What do you mean? Of course it do-"

The Jarl's speech was cut short however as Proventus suddenly charged towards Lydia from across the room, just narrowly escaping the reach of the fire as he slammed both his fists on the table, staring at her intently.

"YOU! ARE! DRAGONKIIN!"

With that, Proventus collapsed to the ground, drunkenly clutching at her feet before she moved it away. A moment of shock ensued for all the patrons, before they burst into laughter. Proventus, even under his inebriated state, understood he was being made fun of and limped away to the stairs leading to his quarters.

Lydia felt her mouth go agape for a second, feeling an odd sense of recollection pass as the image of laughing citizens and an embarrassed person had seemed to strike her twice in the same day.

"What is it?" Balgruuf inquired, standing up and extending her hand towards her.

Lydia frowned. "Nothing, my _Jarl_." She grasped it and stood up as well.

Seeing her smile return, Balgruuf snickered. "I suppose we're even now."

 **. . .**

"Get up boy!"

"Wha – what – what?"

"Get up right now or I shall tear your limbs off one by one!"

Brom felt a sharp, broad pain hit him on the side of the face as smooth palm flesh crashed against his sensitive cheek.

"And what happened to your nose, you idiot?"

Brom got up with a start, rubbing the dirt and hay out of his eyes as he struggled to adjust to full daylight now. The last thing he could remember was perfect, still darkness – and now he was being forcefully awoken by Skulvar, who seemed to entirely ignore Brom's injured nose.

He stood up. Brom noted two things: one, he was no longer on top of the roof anymore, and two, Skulvar seemed very agitated. He adjusted himself, fixing his armor more centrally to his torso as a lengthy line of people – packets of papers clutched in their hands – suddenly seemed to appear out of nowhere as his eyes gradually focused in front of him. He blinked again to make sure he was not imagining things, then felt shock to realize that the line had extended much farther than what he had initially seen – all the way from the Meadery to inside the city gates. He could have sworn that he even saw some people wrapped around the cliff leading to Dragonsreach.

"What's wrong sir?" Brom meekly whispered. "What's going on?"

"Be quiet and pack all the legal documents fool!"

 _Informative_ , Brom joked. He turned to see Skulvar randomly dash from his house to the stables, then back to Brom again. The Nord stuffed papers into the boy's hands, articles of legality and professional certificates qualifying Skulvar's stables as authentic and well-trusted. Skulvar was even bringing his good luck charm, a partially degraded rabbit foot that seemed partially eaten and decomposed.

Brom winced suddenly as his nose began to throb once more, but chose to hide the reasoning for this to not further upset Skulvar, who was now madly dashing for his house to the front of the city, yelling at everyone who crossed him.

Brom flipped through all the papers that were being shoved into his hands, one particular one standing out because of its clear gold embroidery and Imperial crest embellishing its center. He pulled at it, reading the slanted, hastily written letters.

 _By order of Jarl Balgruuf,_

 _To all able-bodied men and women of Whiterun, and perhaps Skyrim: The Dragonborn seeks help in the form of a horseman. The horseman must have significant experience traveling treacherous terrain, and a willingness to teach others. A reward will be offered to anyone who is strong enough to complete the journey with her and her fellow companions._

 _-Whiterun City Guard and Court_

 _That's hardly believable_ , Brom thought to himself. There was absolutely no point bringing along a horseman with the Dragonborn – no matter how experienced he or she was. Fundamental horse-riding could be taught within a few days, maybe even less for someone as well-learned as Skulvar. And why was there no destination mentioned in the letter? Was the Dragonborn going to hop across mountains for fun?

"Skulvar..." Brom began, sighing as the Nord ran again into him bringing a large stack of horse possession papers.

"Silence!" Skulvar screamed, clearly uncaring about the line of onlookers staring at them. "Do not even think about discouraging me from this! I won't have anymore of your complacency in life boy!"

With another forceful shove of papers into Brom's hands, Skulvar roared again. "Serving the Dragonborn! Do you not see how amazing that would be?"

Brom snorted and grasped the papers tighter to keep them from falling. "She isn't that different from us."

"Not very different from – just hold your rebellious tongue boy, before I cut it out!"

With another shove of papers into his hands, Brom took his turn to begin appearing angry. "So where do we wait, _sir_?"

Skulvar appeared mildly happy to see the youth's newfound obedience, even if it was insincere. "Fortunate for us, I have a favor owed to me from a guard at the city gates. From there, it should only be eight to nine hours wait until reaching Dragonsreach."

"EIGHT TO NINE - " Brom began.

"What did I say!? Silence!" Skulvar shouted over him.

Biting his tongue hard enough to almost cause a cut, Brom followed the older Nord up the winding path of steps leading into Whiterun's gates. Skulvar turned back while walking and issued another command.

"And don't drop any of those papers!"

Brom felt a burning desire to become an extremely powerful mage – powerful enough to conjure a giant right on top of his head and send him right to Sovngarde.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _*More lore tie-ins and references incoming!_

 _It may not seem like it, but the cast will be expanded as time progresses. It's very early into the story, and virtually nothing of consequence has occurred... yet. I'm biased against exposition, and find it quite distracting from the narrative if used improperly – even if I may be guilty of doing the very same thing. Hopefully it doesn't come across as that way. And as always, R/R always appreciated. Thanks for the view and your support!_

 _~TWa_

 _P.S: I'm getting better at proof-checking, but there's always errors that can be made. Mercy, please! :) It'll hopefully also get better with time._


	3. Smile and Frown

**Smile and Frown**

* * *

Brom was genuinely surprised that Skulvar's estimate had been correct for once. Of eight to nine hours, approximately seven had elapsed – and Brom found himself sitting atop one of the wooden fences framing the walkway into Dragonsreach, dangling his legs over the edge so that they swung carelessly above a pool of water. The sun had well crossed its peak and was perhaps one or two hours away from sunset – not that time mattered now, but Brom felt boredom come and go in waves. The city itself seemed to have been suspended in time; activity was minimal, and the only real source of life was the enormously long line now extending _past_ the Meadery – at least from what Brom could discern.

Earlier at least he would be standing by shops and could exchange some banter with Jon or Saadia, but now he was sentenced to complete isolation. Skulvar left often to pick up customers along the way and invite them over to the stables, and the only people Brom was surrounded by were largely foreigners who spoke only about horses all day long. He was relegated to stay there as well, to hold Skulvar's place in the line – while the latter enjoyed himself, drinking some mead and exchanging pleasantries and invitations with random strangers. The only saving grace was the prospect of actually entering Dragonsreach.

"Next!"

A depressed Redguard exited the double doors, leaving them open long enough for Brom to sneak a glimpse of the activity – or rather, lack thereof – inside. There was no Dragonborn or table, only the same six of her companions he had seen before. They did not seem pleased either.

Abruptly, the doors shut as an optimistic and peppy Wood Elf made her way inside and closed the doors behind her.

If he had to be honest with himself, walking up the flight of stairs leading to Dragonsreach was not nearly as dramatic as he had hoped it would be. For one, there was constant anxiety that was stoked every time a guard would sweep by, making sure everyone in the line was acting properly and – to Brom's annoyance – this was the same Nord nationalist he had encountered before. For some reason, he seemed stockier and burlier than before; maybe it seemed that way since he regularly stood next to (and harassed) a few thin Argonians, but also seemed too stupid to realize the difference between a bald Breton and a Nord. What made Brom smile however, was when the guard hugged the Breton close to his chest, loudly proclaiming how amazing it was to feel "the scent of a true Nord" on his shoulder.

"Come kinsman! Tell me the tales of your adventures!"

Brom kept staring at the guard, still patting the Breton firmly on the chest and occasionally interrupting his speech with ancient Nordic words – most of which Brom had double-checked with Skulvar, who informed him that it was utter gibberish.

"Boy! How far away are we now?" came a booming voice, as the rectangular outline of Skulvar came into view, bumping smaller people aside.

"Probably an hour or so," Brom commented, hopping off the fence. "We shouldn't get our hopes up. I've seen a lot of people walk out of there - "

"Oh be quiet boy," Skulvar retaliated. "They have yet to see the glory of Skulvar's experience."

"Mhm," Brom mouthed. "Does this _Skulvar_ know that a Redguard by the name of oh, let's see... _Maeko_ left disappointed?"

Skulvar's jaw dropped. "Even _Maeko_? But he's... well he might as well be part horse, that's how experienced he is."

"It all seems quite suspicious," Brom added. "Did they tell you where the Dragonborn would be going?"

"I would assume Solitude," Skulvar answered. "I hear the roads there are complete filth now, but there's no reason to hire a horseman simply for that. But even then, I'm not sure if it is Solitude or not."

Brom twiddled his thumbs, looking away at Skulvar and frowning as the wide shoulders of the Nord nationalist guard came frighteningly close to him.

"Ah, kinsman!" the guard announced quite unnecessarily, squeezing Brom nearly to death. "I have no doubt that one of _our_ own - " and the stressed word was so childish that even a Nord standing behind Brom looked slightly annoyed, " - will be the one chosen for such a tremendous task."

"This is utter madness!"

Brom broke free of the Nord guard's grip and turned to face the gates of Dragonsreach, slightly ajar from use as a particularly angry group of Elves in front of him stood red-faced at a pair of guards.

"I'm sorry..." one of the guards mumbled, clearly unprepared and inexperienced. "...but the Dragonborn - "

" - has rejected every single horseman or woman I have seen for nearly four hours!" one of the Elves yelled back. "Some of them I know to be better to me! This is a waste of everybody's time!"

With that, the group of Elves stormed their way past Brom, Skulvar, and the nationalist Nord – leaving a very uncomfortably empty space between the two guards and Brom.

"Well, I suppose - " the guard began once again, trying to regain his composure and his sword, which he had mistakenly dropped in fear. " - you three will be next."

Brom quickly tried to correct the situation, pointing at the nationalist guard with disdain. "Oh no - you see, he's not with us."

The Nord guard seemed highly offended by this; then let Brom know by slapping him harshly on the back. "What do you mean? Of course I am with you! I am with all my Nord brothers!"

"Come, let us leave this fool behind," Skulvar whispered in Brom's ear.

Never more happy to follow an order, Brom made his way into Dragonsreach, bypassing the two guards while following Skulvar.

His first impression as the doors opened was one of slight disappointment. Usually, (from what he had heard) Dragonsreach would be dotted with fine, golden banners and pristine cups and chalices – all circling a beautiful and massive fire. But there was no fire, the banners were rolled up, and there was no evidence of silverware to be seen on any of the tables. Dragonsreach seemed stripped and slaughtered, and the bones of the castle were now being put on display. Much like painting the inside of a troll skull, the entire process seemed forced, deliberate, and aesthetically quite plain.

The six warriors greeted them with synchronized head nods (almost making Brom chuckle).

"Follow Egvir up the steps," the center warrior proclaimed. His voice was low and threatening, and Brom instinctively knew this was their leader – apart from the Dragonborn.

The shortest one of the six stepped forward and beckoned Brom and Skulvar up into a narrow passageway enclosed by a door - which he lightly tapped open. He was still much larger than either Skulvar or Brom, but seemed relatively younger compared to the rest. He urged Skulvar first, then Brom, then followed them both up the steps. As the door shut behind them, Egvir fiddled with his steel armor before revealing a large muscular hand. Brom watched keenly as Egvir seemed to be crushing some imaginary thing in his hand before extending it sharply outwards. Brilliant flames at once shot through the air and landed squarely on the torch stances as far as Brom could see up the passageway.

"Mage of some sort?" Brom whispered to Skulvar, unsure why he was whispering in Egvir's presence.

"Definitely," Skulvar replied back. "I wonder if he's an Elf."

The large warrior motioned forwards, encouraging them both to keep moving.

 **. . .**

Egvir, as it turned out, was not much of a speaker.

In fact, Brom was not entirely sure Egvir was alive at all. He made virtually no noise ordinary people would make while moving up an extremely sharp incline of steps, and it seemed impossible to assume that no breathing sounds were coming from Egvir. Skulvar, with his massive frame and bulging muscles, would get winded after a few flights – prompting Brom to go back and help him back up. Even then, Egvir would not say anything but just stare at them with robotic efficiency.

"I think we need a few more minutes," Brom suggested. "We've been walking for a long time. It's not as easy for him as it is for us."

This was intended as a joke, a sincere one at that, but this effort went completely over Egvir's head.

Brom smiled stupidly and turned back to Skulvar. "Come on, just a few mo - "

Again, Brom had failed to notice a wide open archway to his left – which Egvir had shoved him into along with Skulvar. He turned back to Egvir.

"Wait, where are we?"

Brom, in all his foolish hope, wondered whether Egvir would actually respond before the giant lumbered off down the steps. The boy helped Skulvar to his feet before turning back and looking at the room he was pushed into.

It was exquisitely ornate and well-lit, and seemed more impressive than Dragonsreach itself. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, and there was no feeling of dread that Brom had received on a constant basis earlier. Walls were plain, but artfully created with patterns of ancient Nordic creatures and the occasional weapon holster or two. There were no furnishings present, but two brown chairs sat in the middle of a thick woolen rug. One of the chairs was empty, and on the other sat an incredibly fit dark-haired woman, donning simple clothes and patiently waiting for Skulvar and Brom to say something.

"Dragonborn, it is an honor!" Skulvar immediately shouted off, getting down one knee. Brom, disoriented for a moment, grimaced as the Nord punched out the back of one of his knees – making him kneel as well. "Almost failed to recognize you without the – glorious armor you sport!"

"Please, call me Lydia," the woman responded, softly pressing both of their shoulders. "I think I've had enough of titles for one day."

"Of course, whatever you wish!" Skulvar announced with zeal, standing up and dragging Brom with him.

Lydia took the time to look them both in their faces before speaking. "So, as I'm sure you know – I am looking for a horseman familiar with irregular, snowy terrai - "

Brom saw Lydia stop abruptly and focus her gaze on him. It seemed inquisitive and harmless, but evaluating and critical all the same. She pursed her lips in amusement, apparently lost in memory.

Then it hit him. Brom predicted her question before she even asked it.

"Say, have I not met you before?" Lydia kindly inquired.

Brom wished he was back with Egvir. If someone like the Dragonborn revealed the cabbage incident in front of Skulvar – he might react quite harshly to know that an employee of his had brought dishonor and become the laughingstock of the city for a short few minutes.

"No," Brom promptly lied. "I doubt that."

"Yes, I doubt it as well," Skulvar chimed in. "He's a nobody. Even I don't fully know him."

Brom watched as Lydia brought her eyes down and chuckled, before straightening up and looking at them both again. "You may be right. Your boy just looked like an earlier citizen I had met before."

"Again, I doubt it," Skulvar interrupted. "He has a uniquely unappealing face."

"Get out of here old man," Brom muttered at the lowest of tones. "Can you not see that you're not fertile enough to have a child with her?"

And with this comment, he was rewarded with a subtle kick from Skulvar.

Lydia broke in, apparently hearing some of the dialogue. "Excuse me gentlemen, but I'd prefer to ask the both of you separately, so I know that both of you have adequate training – after all, the apprentice should be as useful as the master, am I correct?"

Skulvar nodded before walking in between Lydia and Brom and began pushing the latter out of the room.

"Get out of here boy," he commanded. "I'll call you back in when - "

"Actually," Lydia cut him short, "it is customary that I check the skill set of the apprentice first, then move onto the master. Makes the whole process a bit faster for all of us. If your boy proves worthy, I will move onto asking you. If not – then I've just saved us both some time, right?"

Skulvar seemed greatly saddened by this, but turned to proceed out of the room anyways with a quick bow.

"Try not to bring dishonor upon Whiterun, eh?" he mocked at Brom, who silently swore against his breath.

The silence was growing quickly with Skulvar out of the room. Lydia waited several seconds after Skulvar exited, listening for retreating footsteps as the heavy Nord made his way down the flight of stairs.

"You should be thanking me," Lydia breathed out, still listening for Skulvar's movement away. "I didn't embarrass you in front of your father."

Brom saw her smirking – perhaps playfully – at him, but this only served to infuriate him just a tiny bit. "He's not my father, _Dohvakiin_."

She raised her eyebrows at him, moving closer to close the space between him and her. Brom grew painfully aware of the fact that she was slightly taller than he was.

"I told you my name was Lydia," she stated with factual precision.

Brom gulped and moved his head away from her gaze. "I'm sorry, Lydia."

Seveal moments of silence.

Lydia took the opportunity to further prod at Brom. "Sit down boy."

Brom waited until she had sat down on her chair, then beckoned him once more, before finally walking over to the empty chair and sitting to face her.

"What is your name?" Lydia asked.

"Brom. Ven."

He was unsure why, but he was not enjoying this process at all. More than ever, he felt out of place and strangely disconnected as Lydia scanned him effortlessly and made him twitch in nervous bouts.

"Brom. Ven." Lydia repeated, syllable for syllable. "That means North Wind."

Brom nodded. "I know."

Lydia let out a light chuckle before leaning forward so that she could look at him more closely. Brom however, refused to cooperate and for every step she came closer, he drove his head further down – away from her gaze.

"It is my _mouth_ that does the dragon shouts," Lydia joked. "Not my eyes. I am not trying to scare you by asking you all these questions alone. You won't be killed just by looking at me."

Brom again nodded in habitual discomfort. "I know."

Lydia blinked twice before leaning back, letting Brom naturally elevate his head once he felt more at ease. "How old are you boy – I mean – Brom? I'm around thirty-six years."

Brom smiled lightly and raised his head to blink slowly at her. He realized the purpose of Lydia giving her age first. She was clearly trying to make this entire experience as comfortable and light-hearted as possible – still, he kept his guard up and then turned his face down again. "Sixteen years in a few days, I think."

Lydia seemed more engaged now, and further closed the distance between the two chairs with an imperceptible leaning forward. "You _think_? What kind of a boy does not know his own birthday?"

Brom sighed before answering. "I came from an orphanage in Riften. The people there told me I was born in one of two months – and that is at specific as they could be."

Lydia turned her face away, distracting herself by rhythmically tapping her fingers against her face. "I see. An orphan. Do you know any of your family?"

Brom thought hard. He had no conscious memories of anyone directly related to him, and his first memories were of him running along a street with a few of his friends in the Thieves Guild – nothing to do with parents, cousins, or anything of that matter. Even recollecting his earliest memories in the orphanage proved insurmountable, as he had struggled to suppress most of the experiences as soon as he had left.

"The orphanage women told me I had an uncle who dropped me off there," Brom mused. "I can't remember any family past that."

"So..." Lydia awkwardly broke in, steepling her fingers. "Who were the cabbages for?"

Brom appeared bewildered at the sudden change of topic. "What?"

"You said it yourself that you have no family," Lydia repeated. "Why would you need to buy food? Unless it was for yourself, but most Nords I know have a pronounced hatred for cabbages."

"Master Skulvar, the man I walked in with," Brom informed her, taking care to keep his eyes and expression as unreadable as possible. "He took me in as an apprentice a few months ago. I run errands for him. He's a Nord too, but a bit – irregular in that aspect."

"But you both are native to Whiterun, correct?" Lydia guessed. "He can't be bothered to walk a few paces and buy it himself?"

Brom unwillingly let out a snicker, and to his disappointment Lydia took this as a sign that she was making progress. Brom returned to his objective voice. "He's getting older now. The man needs help from time to time."

"I can see the respectful tone," Lydia stated matter-of-factly. "But I can't hear any sympathy in your words."

Brom decided once again – against his better judgement – to give a watered down, but still somewhat true answer.

"It is what it is," Brom stated, keeping his response deliberately vague. "He gave me work when I needed it. I'm thankful to him for that. I really have no reason to complain."

"Even you seem unsatisfied saying that," Lydia pressed on. "I wonder if - "

"I'm sorry," Brom interjected. "Where are the questions about my experience with horses? Why am I being asked such pointless questions like where I came from, where my family is, and - "

Brom halted suddenly as he noticed that there was no longer any kindly smile on Lydia's face anymore. Her lips were not curved into a frown, but remained placid and straight. While she was leaning forward before, she began to relax herself onto the chair – moving her eyes away from Brom and onto the fingertips of her armor.

He realized that by interrupting her, it was entirely possible that he had offender her honor in some way – yet that seemed stupid to suggest now, after she had made every effort to show to him that she was being informal and courteous rather than obsessed with deference and respect.

"I determine a person's honor and character from his or her choices in the past," Lydia spoke out with rigid formality. "I determine his or willingness to _cooperate_ with others."

Brom knew right then that he had not made simply one mistake – he had made many. All along their conversation she had been trying to extend ease and informality, while he had stubbornly pushed these invitations away. Perhaps Lydia had grown tired of simply trying to communicate properly and easily with him; or worse, she had immediately decided that Brom – and as a consequence, Skulvar – were not fit for the job.

"Thank you for coming here," Lydia coldly asserted, making Brom twitch in shame as she leaned forward briefly before standing straight up, looking down at him with indifference. "I shall let you _both_ know if I deem your group acceptable."

This might as well have been rejection as its purest. The fact that she had ended the conversation by giving him a polite but entirely false hope was a clear message to how poorly Brom had ended his and Skulvar's chances. He didn't even bother saying anything as he similarly stood up, bowed as quickly as he could, then exited the room.

Unfortunately for him, Skulvar had picked this exact moment to come rushing into the room, colliding with Brom and as a result letting large quantities of papers slip from his hands and onto the floor.

"Idiot!" Skulvar announced, then softening as he realized Lydia was in the room. "Excuse my language and frustration Dragonborn..."

Brom bent down to pick up the fallen packets. Frustratingly, Lydia did not flinch from her current position as she saw him in such a vulnerable and clearly embarrassed position – instead, she appeared to harden her scrutinizing glare toward him. For thirty painful seconds, she watched him as Brom struggled to cram the papers into pockets of his armor, eliciting more cries of objection from Skulvar.

"Don't bend the papers you fool!" the large Nord murmured, imprudently unaware that Lydia had heard every word. "You both were talking for a long time. Will you wish to talk to me now, Dragonborn?"

Lydia made sure to spend several more seconds scowling at Brom before answering. "I've told your _boy_ everything you both need to know."

The emphasis on _boy_ was such a large, jarring contrast to the cheery use of _Brom_ she was comfortable with earlier. Skulvar of course did not notice this, but Brom knew that she was now making every effort to see them out of the room.

"We must leave," Brom hastily mumbled to Skulvar. "I have all the papers."

Skulvar bowed to Lydia before he followed Brom out, but only so that his back was turned and could freely bully Brom. "Stop acting like a fool boy. I swear to Talos if you dishonor me in front of - "

"She said no," Brom breathed out, beginning the walk down the stairs before feeling a stong hand pull him back.

"What do you mean, no?" Skulvar spat at him. "What...did...you - "

"I will tell you," Brom again interrupted. "once we are inside the safety of the stables."

Before Skulvar could grab him once more, Brom swung out of his reach and sped down the stairs, feeling the tall Nord's steps coming thudding after him. Brom knew that Skulvar would never go back to Lydia without the papers, and this chasing strategy seemed to work for a while before he saw the dimly lit but still impressive outline of Egvir pop into view.

"We were not accepted for the task," Brom quickly mentioned to the motionless warrior.

Egvir seemed unresponsive – at first. The goliath turned his back to Brom before shoving the door open and letting the boy through, and to Brom's disappointment, also held it open for Skulvar to exit the passageway.

"Boy," Skulvar hissed, voice dangerously lower than any tone Brom had ever seen him use. "Give me the papers. I will not allow you to sabotage our chance to rub shoulders with greatness."

And Skulvar pinched Brom's arm – the force of the biting grasp was so great that Brom felt the blood from his heart move and stop in the middle of the crushed flesh.

"It's over," Brom uttered, voice heavy with remorse and anger. "Feel free to beg the Dragonborn, if you wish."

With that, Brom again twisted out of Skulvar's grip and headed for the double doors leading out of Dragonsreach. The six warriors watched him go patiently, and Brom did not hear Skulvar's steps behind him. He shoved the right door open, feeling a cold breeze smack him across the face as the dark outline of Whiterun and the full moon materialized. As he walked across the pathway still lined with hopeful people, Brom examined the painfully pulsing arm and grimaced as two clear purple blots – growing in size and the exact shape of Skulvar's index finger and thumb – spread across his arm.

"Kinsman!"

 _Talos curse and kill me,_ Brom thought. The large Nord guard once again blocked his pathway down the stairs into Whiterun. "Tell me! Did a Nord of our own such as you enter the service of the Dragonborn of legend?"

Brom inhaled the frigid air violently into his nostrils and threw the papers far away from him. He tracked them as they gently floated down into the deep blue pool thirty feet below the walkway, disappearing into soggy waves. Brom ducked underneath the surprised guard's outstretched arms, continuing his slow walk down the steps.

"No."

* * *

 **A/N**

 _*Egvir means season(s), if I am correct._

 _I'm getting better at proofreading, so some republished chapters with grammatical fixes and typo removals should be up soon. Hopefully, I won't have to do the same thing with future chapters._

 _In other news, I haven't really agreed upon a word count yet. I figured an average chapter should be around 3000 words, but I fluctuate a lot (usually above) as the story goes on – I try my best to make the chapter divisions feel natural and organic._

 _Also, shout out to my first reviewer! Your comment made my day as well :) Even for all the viewers out there too, I thank you!_

 _~TWa_


	4. Glass and Mead

**Glass and Mead**

* * *

 _The sheer nerve..._

She smacked the side of the archway as she passed underneath it.

 _Arrogant, stuck up little -_

Another smack, but this time against a glass cabinet – which shattered upon impact.

"Lydia!"

She turned sharply on her heels, attempting to locate the source of the noise. To her dismay, she had completely overshot where she was supposed to go and was now in the Dragonsreach Balcony rather than the War and Planning room. She smiled impishly as six imposing figures called her over to a cylindrical table dotted with checkered flags and outlined with a map. They sat rather haphazardly around the table, leaving one chair open for her but also sat with absolutely no respect towards her. Two exceptionally tall Nord women sat at the table, alongside four similarly-sized men: two twin Bretons, an Orc, and a lone Redguard facing off into the corner, seemingly unconcerned with the proceedings. Lydia was undeniably the smallest in the group, but this as usual didn't faze her as she shook her head at the broken cabinet.

 _Control yourself,_ she mentally urged. Lydia pulled out a small scrap of paper and a quill pen from within the overlaying sheets of ebony armor and laid it across a shard of cracked glass.

 _Sorry Balgruuf_ , she wrote. _Will pay later._

Pacing slowly towards the table, Lydia recognized the face of the Orc first. Superbly constructed, it was oddly refined and sharp, with lingering eyes and a long jaw. "What happened to your armor Bok?"

Bok growled in laughter, patting his lean midsection and fine-cut clothes before answering. "We don't walk around in armor all the time, unlike you."

Deep guffaws ensued from all six warriors. Lydia bared her teeth and extended her arm fowards to flick Bok across the forehead.

"That hurt," Bok mock-cried. "Why are you so tense today? Is it that time of the month?"

More cries of unorganized laughter.

Lydia snickered fakely before responding. "No, but it _is_ time for you to finally shave that disgusting skeever tail clump you call head hair."

The laughing died out immediately and devolved into exaggerated gasps and small applause. Lydia traced the ridges of Bok's hair partitions with her finger. "I mean for the sake of Skyrim Bok, please – it's starting to resemble a mountain crag more than a man's hairline."

Bok flared his nostrils as more laughing ensued and hurriedly covered up his face with his massive palms, lumbering out of the room in anger.

"You did not need to stoop _that_ low," one of the Nord women chided, face square and almost masculine with jagged edges. "He's already heard gossip from the citizens about it. Nearly took one of their heads off."

"Then go make him feel comfortable Brit," one of the Breton men replied for Lydia. "If you know what I mean."

"Then hand me your tongue Hahkun," Brit responded, the edges of her jaw pointing out as she clenched them. "Maybe then I'll use it to _comfort_ him."

"Ay, don't do that to yourself woman," Hahkun spat, recoiling as Brit's jaw began quivering in anger. "You already resemble a man, why - "

"Enough," Lydia interrupted, cutting everyone short. "Bok will be back. He's probably washing his hair, or staring at it in a mirror. Man has serious issues with how he looks."

More chuckles followed, but these were far more respectful. Lydia turned to the silent Nord woman, adopting a much more serious and polite tone.

"Egvir," she softly pronounced. "Do you have the list I asked you to prepare?"

Egvir nodded silently, extracting a tightly furled scroll from a pocket and handed it to Lydia. She took the scroll and unrolled it, reading over the names written within. Most of the names she had personally interviewed a few hours ago, and by a large majority her group had been even more selective about their recommendations than she was. There was a large overlap in names between what she had deeemed an ideal candidate and what they had deemed an ideal candidate...

 _Principle Master: Skulvar Saber-Hilt, Nord_

 _Apprentice: Brom Ven, Nord_

 _Experience: 26 years combined_

Lydia growled subtly at the memory and crunched the paper into a ball before stuffing it in another fold of her armor. She looked at the still-silent Redguard, who refused to make eye contact with her.

"Something wrong?"

Lydia broke out of her thoughts to see Hahkun's twin staring at her genially.

"Nothing Wuth," Lydia addressed the Breton, who was slapping his brother across the face to keep him from further antagonizing Brit. "I hoped that you six would come to me with different names than what I have."

"You told us to find the names of horsemen and women who have good reputations," Brit restated. "We did so."

"Yes you all did," Lydia affirmed. "And I sought people with experience. But there is a large overlap between my shortlist and yours."

"Egvir made the final cuts," Hahkun interjected. "Isn't that right, Egvir?"

The silent Nord woman bowed her head further down, and Lydia noticed her imperceptibly fold her cloth more tightly around her neck – the hint of a fiercely purple black scar around her throat unfortunately stuck out.

"Got something to say, Egvir?" Hahkun repeated. Egvir pushed her head up, eyes filled with hatred, opening her mouth and mashing her teeth at Hahkun.

"Please woman," Hahkun continued, "just this once, try to - "

Lydia was about to intervene, but Wuth beat her to it, landing a powerful punch right into his twin's jaw as Hahkun collapsed onto the floor.

"By the – what was that for you fool!?"

Wuth merely snorted and turned to Lydia. "Apologize for the interruption," He turned to Egvir, "and the rudeness of my brother."

"How _are_ the two of you related?" Brit broke in. "Aside from your faces, I can't see anything similar in the both of you."

Lydia lightly chuckled at this. "We don't choose our families. Just as I wish you all could have chosen different people than what I had chosen."

"We've narrowed it down quite a lot," Wuth added. "We originally had thousands of potential candidates. We've only got six or seven groups to sort through now."

Lydia remembered the last name on Egvir's list.

 _Brom Ven_.

"I suppose we ought to arrange a second round of interrogations then," she began. "Get in contact with the final candidates. Time to find the right group and leave – quickly. The Dragon isn't going to wait for us."

The three warriors at once stood up, leaving through the double doors exiting the War Room one by one. Lydia sniggered as the slanted hairline of Bok came stumbling back from a local washroom.

"What did I miss?" he spoke, still fiddling with his hair.

"Bok - " Lydia began, smiling at him before standing up; she almost could hide behind his frame. " - You're a startlingly handsome Orc. Start wearing a Talos amulet. All the women in Skyrim would come running, I guarantee it."

"I still don't forgive you," Bok muttered, but grinned broadly at her. "That comment _almost_ hurt me."

Lydia returned the grin and stuffed Egvir's list onto his chest, waiting for him to grasp it. "Have you seen these names?"

"No," Bok replied. "I wasn't present when the other five were making the decisions on which people to reject."

"Help the other five track these people down then," Lydia requested. "Some of them are in Riverwood and random camps across the landscape surrounding Whiterun. It might take some time."

Bok agreed with a frown and finally grabbed the paper from her hand and ran through the same exit. Lydia turned her attention to the still sitting Redguard man, apparently lost in thought.

She frowned at him, walking closer. The sun filitering through the tall windows shed some light on his face – strong features aged immensely and tired beyond belief – and eyes that lit up inconspicuously as Lydia approached the sitting, drooped form.

"Sot," she breathed out, softly keeping a hand on his shoulder. "You were oddly quiet today."

The Redguard turned around briskly in his chair, bracing himself on the backrest with one hand. Lydia moved her hand away.

"Do you know how old I am today?"

Lydia paused, smiling slightly at the question. "Fifty years."

Sot pursed his lips and blinked. "That is correct. _Fifty_ years."

Lydia stayed quiet for a few more moments, moving closer to him and again reaching for his shoulder. "So?"

"So I want to die, Dragonborn," Sot spoke out. "Fifty years of being by your side. Do you remember that?"

"Of course," Lydia reciprocated. "My earliest memories are sparring with you."

"Yes," Sot agreed. "Yes indeed..."

"Why do you want to die?"

"Because," Sot continued, voice seemingly choking. "I wanted to let you know how tired I have become. I grow weary as the years - "

"There are men almost twice your age who still move up and about - " Lydia cut him short. She was not going to allow this kind of self-reflective destruction to visit him once again. " - don't dare complain."

"Every year a new gray hair appears on my beard," Sot mentioned. "And every time it depresses me. And with our last encounter with those Orcs in Riften..."

Lydia's eyes began to burn vigorously as she rubbed her face with her metal gloves.

"All I say is that - " Sot started, "Maybe when all of this is said and done, I could leave all of this behind."

Lydia laughed in sadness, still wiping her eyes. "And do what?"

Sot threw his arms up in confusion. "I do not know. Tend a farm. Buy a warm house to sleep in Solitude. Do something that makes me know I haven't wasted my precious life."

The Redguard's face became intense and analytical. He stood up to look at Lydia. "Speaking of which, how many people have actually believed your little lie?"

Lydia coughed, hiding her face from him. "A few. Balgruuf was suspicious at first. I led him off."

"And when will you tell the the truth?" Sot asked, still not able to see Lydia's face.

"In time." Lydia simply answered.

"You're making the right choice here Lydia," Sot affirmed for her. "It's best this way. There's no other option, and this is far more merciful – for everyone involved."

"I know," Lydia agreed. "But guilt picks its victims with no mercy."

"It does." Sot restated.

Several moments must have passed. The light was beginning to stagger and lose its impact on Sot, whose face was disappearing into the darkness once more. He moved closer to Lydia, placing his large hands on her comparatively tiny shoulders.

"I am honored to be the longest friend of the Dragonborn," he whispered.

Lydia opened her mouth in doubtful protest, but decided against it and bowed her head. Sot noticed this. "Lydia... Don't make this anymore than what it is. After all, I am old enough to be your father."

"No such thing as fourteen year old fathers," Lydia spat. "And I know – you feel the same way."

Sot blinked many times – and Lydia had counted every single one of them – before removing his hands from her shoulders. He began his slow gait towards the double doors. The Dragonborn stood still in the room, watching him go as glass shards crunched behind him.

 **. . .**

"Another."

"No."

"Pleasesh?"

"No."

"I beg yoush."

"I do not care."

"I'll tell yoush why I'msh drinking."

This seemed to do it. The woman standing close to him shoved another bottle of Mead his way, hands tiredly moving it as if she was disgusted with doing the act. Brom quickly grasped it and downed as much of it as he could.

The cellar was a great place to drink in silence. On top where there were citizens and Mikael singing those blasted songs – there was too much commotion to drink purposefully. Here, in the dank, nearly unreachable depths of the cellars – it was easy to down a few Meads and remain undisturbed by anyone. Even Saadia seemed to appreciate this, which is probably why she was so comfortable passing him a few meads in the first place.

"I really shouldn't be doing this," the Redguard woman mentioned with regret, watching Brom drunkenly haze back and forth from his seated position.

Brom guffawed, much louder than he had meant to, before gargling a response. "Butsh you did it regardlesssh."

"Don't make me regret this," Saadia begged, crouching down to get a better look at Brom. "Now it's your turn. Why are you drinking?"

Brom frowned and hiccupped. "Becaushh - "

"Stop slurring," Saadia interrupted. "Focus. I can barely understand what you're saying."

Brom gulped and tried to tighten his throat. "Because I love the taste of the Bannered Mare's Mead."

Brom hiccupped once more, watching Saadia sit patiently for a few seconds before shaking her head in disapproval and cursing him. She stood up and began to head towards the stairs exiting the cellar.

"Because - " Brom announced, loud enough to make her stop mid-walk. " - I ruined everything."

He began chuckling, miserably and forcefully, unsure of how she would react. "I ruined everything. I even threw the - "

Brom could not control himself, laughter pouring out in outbursts of tears and smiling hiccups. He set the mead in his hand firmly down, stabilizing himself on it.

"Is this something to do with the horseman business?" Saadia inquired, moving closer to him. "What is it?"

"Nothing, nothing..." Brom began, still shaky. "All you need to know is that I am pathetic."

Brom lost balance suddenly as Saadia kicked the mead holding him steady out of his grasp, watching the boy fall back onto his back and head thudding against the floor.

"Either speak clearly," Saadia restated. "Or get out."

Brom hiccupped. "I destroyed Skulvar. His life and his joy – I threw them down the river. I – we had the chance to be the chosen group by the Dragonborn."

Saadia opened her mouth in sympathy, realization coming to her.

"But I decided no," Brom told her. "I somehow offended her. She threw us out."

"You offended the _Dragonborn_?" Saadia asked in shock. "Are you insane?"

Brom winced as pain flooded his head. He had clearly drank too much. "No. She's the one who is insane. She asked me - "

"It does not matter what she did!" Saadia yelled, eyes rolling in disgust. "She is the - "

"DOHVAKIIN! I KNOW!" Brom raised his voice as loudly as possible under his drunken state. "Does that mean she does whatever she wants? Does this mean I have to bow and kneel to her every time she moves a foot, like that madman Skulvar? Look!"

And Brom rolled his ragged sleeve up, revealing the two purple blots – now dark and heavy – that Skulvar had given him. "Look what I received for exposing the truth!"

Saadia remained quiet, immediately deducing the origin of the injuries.

"Everything she has in life," Brom brought his voice down to a whisper. "Was handed to her. She was _chosen_ by the Graybeards. She was _chosen_ by the people to lead Skyrim. She was - "

"That is how life is," Saadia silently muttered. "We do not get to choose how we start."

Brom snickered maniacally. "Then that, is the purest form of unfairness I could imagine."

"No," Saadia retorted.

"No what?"

"You're wrong."

Brom again laughed cruelly. "I am _wrong_ , am I?"

"Yes," Saadia went on. "Because you robbed the both of you the chance to do something with your miserable lives. You had a chance and you threw it down the boiling pot. That looks very fair in my eyes."

"And some chance she gave us," Brom spat, again twitching as the headache grew worse. "She threw us out."

"Only after you offended her honor."

"Only after she robbed me of mine."

Saadia shook her head rapidly in anger. "Never mind. What did she say to you?"

Brom sniffled then wrapped his hands on his head. "She was being courteous to us. She told me essentially to get out of the room."

Saadia seemed perplexed. "That seems... unusually harsh for the Dragonborn to say that."

Brom chuckled. "Yes, it was. She tried to put it in a light manner. She said that she would 'let us know' in time. Might as well have bashed our skulls with a warhammer and said 'Leave peasants!'"

Saadia squealed with joy. "Brom, that's good news!"

Brom laughed in disdain, rolling onto his back. "You misunderstand me. She was being a polite, dishonest - "

"No," Saadia firmly shut him down. "She doesn't say to everyone. She only mentions it to a select few people."

"Troll fat," Brom replied.

"I am serious," Saadia whined. "All the people I have spoken to told me that she firmly said 'No' to them at the end of their little chat."

"You - " Brom began. " - talked to some of the rejected horsemen?"

Saadia smirked and placed a hand on her chin while crossing the other across her waist. "You think you're the first person to come here to try and drown his sorrows?"

Brom thought as carefully as he could under the influence of strong mead. He had not expected there to be different responses to different people. Just by the tone of her voice he knew that he and Skulvar were out of her list, but in that case why had she not thrown him out? That silentless hulk Egvir had not escorted them out – and Brom remembered Egvir pausing for a moment before letting him out of the passageway. _No... she hates us..._

"I still am doubtful," Brom mumbled. "You were not there when she was seeing us off. I could see the malice in her eyes."

"Yet she still gave you hope," Saadia responded. "That must be worth something."

"More like false hope," Brom interjected. "Skulvar hasn't even bothered to find me yet. I doubt he'd avoid telling me if he knew that we had a chance at serving the _Dragonborn_."

Saadia ignored the mocking tone in Brom's voice. "Probably because he is still in shock, after what you did to him."

Brom stood up at once, disoriented by the mead but still struggling to stay upright.

"Whatsh... did I... do, to him?" he asked, the anger in his voice rattling his own head.

"You're slurring words again..."

"That's because I AM ANGRY!"

Saadia fell silent. Brom pressed his advantage. "HOW DARE YOU SAY I DID SOMETHING TO HIM!"

She urged him to keep his voice down, motioning for him to sit down. Unsure of as to why, he obeyed, whispering the next few words. "I did nothing to him. I exposed the truth."

"Did you not tell me one day," Saadia recalled. "That you felt a slight sense of gratitude towards Skulvar?"

Brom nodded.

"Then why are you doing this?" Saadia finished. "Hardly gratitude shown to a man who gave you food and bedding when you needed it. You took away a joy – and a chance – from him and yourself."

Brom paused in silence, head swaying as he struggled to keep himself from vomiting onto the floor. "Doesn't matter. I doubt she would take us back, even if Talos himself would come down and ask her to."

Saadia pursed her lips, twitching into a smile. "He took a chance with you, when he offered you bedding and food, correct?"

Brom nodded.

"Then perhaps it is time you did something for his sake."

Brom opened his mouth to disagree but was cut off once again.

" - Even if you don't want to do it for yourself."

Brom jerked himself forward to keep him from falling down. Several awkward minutes elapsed before he looked at Saadia again. "I feel sick."

She smiled at him. "That is relief, my very stupid boy."

Although he tried to contain it, a barrage of fluids and half-digested foods came running out of Brom's mouth and onto the floor. Saadia's smile turned into a half-smirk, half-frown.

"And that – will be fifty septims."

Brom opened his still moist mouth in surprise.

Saadia shook her head. "Twenty for the meads, thirty for the wood I'll have to replace."

Brom vomited once more.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _*Bok = age_

 _*Wuth = age (they are twins, after all)_

 _*Hahkun = axe_

 _*Brit = appealing (irony :))_

 _*Sot = White (again slight irony)_

 _I understand introducing characters in a non-expositional way can be quite difficult – and may seem awkward at first – but I tried to do it as gradually as possible. Also, just because it's a Drama does not mean there won't be any action – there will! Soon! Grammatical updates for earlier chapters incoming as well... (Hopefully there's not as many typos and grammar mistakes as before)_

 _It's rather exciting for me to write this story, so thanks to all!_

 _~TWa_


	5. Goodbye and Hello

**Goodbye and Hello**

* * *

Jarl Balgruuf had worked very hard throughout his reign to make sure Whiterun ran as efficiently and safely as possible. Every single minutia of a task had to be observed and cared for before any decisions were made – from large, expansive projects like infrastructure and taxes to smaller, more citizen-oriented pursuits such as recreation and city guard training. And Balgruuf – to his own recollection – remained very quiet about the progress of these activities. It would be appreciated to receive a few compliments here and there, but he knew most of the time the position was thankless, easily criticized, and overall controversial within the public sphere. So, to retreat from the pressures of ruling, Balgruuf found himself once again strolling down the halls of Dragonsreach, humming tunes and patting officials on the back. It was going relatively smoothly too – until he heard crunching beneath his feet, and a jarring pain cut through his unprotected toe.

"Ahhh! May Sovngarde take you quic - "

Balgruuf observed just then that he was not being attacked by anyone. As he turned around on the spot, he knew that the War Room was empty – so he turned to the source of the pain. Balgruuf bent his knee and brought his foot close to his face, stooping down to detect a misshapen shard of glass protruding from the toe. Blood was trickling into the shard, giving it a rose-pink aura which seemed vaguely beautiful as the moonlight extended from the open balcony doors and disseminated onto the floor.

"Tonight is your death, Balgruuf of Whiterun."

The mere tone of the voice was enough to arouse concern, and the words launched Balgruuf into action as he pivoted on his one good foot and tried to pull his sword out from his right side. Unfortunately, he had failed to notice a plethora of other shards and a torn cloth laying close to his foot, slipping and feeling his own torso be harshly pulled back as he almost landed squarely on the remaining glass shards. Discombobulated, Balgruuf swung his elbow directly behind him, hoping to hit the force keeping him from falling on the broken glass – he was dissatsified however, as a brief hissing sound was heard before the tugging force disappeared and Balgruuf ended up balancing on one foot once more.

"By Mara Balgruuf, if I was an actual assassin you would have been dead by now."

The voice was mocking and feminine, and Balgruuf inhaled air in frustration before shoving the Dragonscale-clad figure in front of him several paces away.

"You stupid woman!" Balgruuf roared. "Do you think that was funny?"

Lydia giggled with bravado, righting herself instantly from the push. "Sorry, I just thou - "

"You don't think at all, Lydia! How could you - "

"Wait just a moment!" Lydia interrupted, face heavy with seriousness and determination. "You cannot speak to the Dragonborn in that way."

She watched as Balgruuf momentarily seemed lost, confused by the sudden display of formality before throwing him a hint.

"In fact, I shall have you executed in a fortnight!" Lydia announced with a suppressed snicker.

Balgruuf's expresssion regained its original disapproval. "I was being serious. I could have been seriously injured. And, did you just shout when I tried to swing my arm at you?"

Lydia nodded in affirmation. "I had to, or else I would have been hurt by your – _muscular_ elbow." The emphasis once again, was mocking. "And I find it hard to believe that falling onto broken glass would injure the Jarl so quickly."

"Lydia..."

"How can one kill the Jarl? Bash his head with a sweet roll?"

"Curse you woman, and your infernal scheming! And what is this?"

Lydia stared at Balgruuf as he held up her note left before on the cabinet, handwriting slightly faded by dust.

"Oh," she exclaimed, picking it from his hands. "That. Well, I thought you would have read the note by now, but clearly you were too busy falling to your would-be death."

Lydia tried her best to suppress another chuckle, but it came out regardless and Balgruuf seemed utterly defeated and too exhausted to continue the banter.

Feeling merciful, she attempetd a different conversation. "Well, at least I'm out of your hair – or beard – for sometime."

To her disappointment, Balgruuf's expression hardened and became serious. His words were slow and deliberately planned. "I see. It is already time, is it?"

Lydia snuck a small piece of cloth out of her armor and tossed it to Balgruuf. She displayed a constant expression of guilt and sympathy in an attempt to cheer the Jarl up.

"What's with the new armor?" Balgruuf casually queried, wincing every few seconds as he wrapped the cloth multiple times around the lacerated toe. "Ebony too heavy for traveling?"

"I like traveling light," Lydia responded. "It's not difficult to go in Ebony – but it is rather boring and unnecessarily heavy for the length of the trip I will be making."

"So it would have nothing to do with the fact that Dragonscale looks better on you?"

Lydia raised one eyebrow cockily, pulling a dangling edge of the cloth hard enough to make Balgruuf grimace. "Maybe I _should_ have killed you."

Lydia let down Balgruuf's foot and watched it to make sure the cloth stayed on as he slipped it into his sandals.

"You might have helped me, you know," Balgruuf mentioned. "I was fixing my toe standing on one foot!"

Lydia smirked and beckoned him towards her. "We're not _that_ close yet." Balgruuf smiled.

"Come," she called, heading towards the double doors. "Do you not want to see me off?"

"I just didn't expect the time to come so quickly," Balgruuf admitted, but still started to follow Lydia. "Has it really already been a week?"

"Afraid so dear friend," Lydia stated.

Balgruuf's face lit up for a few moments before he managed words out. "What about the horseman? Who is he – or she?"

Lydia exhaled deeply and rubbed her brow once more. "Ulundil."

"Ulundil?" Balgruuf repeated, thoroughly confused. "The Altmer from Windhelm?"

"Yes," Lydia confirmed. "Ironic that he has to go back roughly the same way he came. But he has more than enough experience for the trip."

"I see," Balgruuf replied. "Windhelm is no stranger to snowy terrain and poor roads. You picked a good candidate Lydia."

Lydia paused at the doors leading out of Dragonsreach, smiling at Balgruuf. "Thank you. And the fact that he made the trip here must mean he is well equipped to handle the conditions."

"Indeed."

Lydia gently pushed open the doors, feeling cool night air waft past her and observed the moonlight cascade down the sky and into the shops and marketplaces. As she made her way across the walkway, approaching the first flight of stairs going down into the city center, a bit of amazement slipped into her senses. In a way, she wished that tonight would have been the night of her reception feast. The weather was much better, the people clearly more active, and Proventus was away tonight due to illness.

"Is your heart torn because it has to leave?" Balgruuf inquired, sincerity painting his face.

Lydia sighed and began her descent, waiting for the inevitable prodding Balgruuf would give her.

 **. . .**

"Do you know what's wrong wi - "

"Can't talk right now!"

Brom was running as hard as he possibly could. He had checked nearly all the buildings in Whiterun, and Skulvar was nowhere to be found. He had began with the stables, then proceeded to work inwards into the city – even asking beggars and Jon where Skulvar had gone in case they had seen him. And, as every witness told him, no one had seen Skulvar for hours, perhaps even a full day.

Brom sprinted towards the city gates, hoping to start a fresh search starting at the stables once more. Unfortunately, his eternal enemy was stationed just in front of him and to the side of the gate.

"Kinsman!"

 _No, no, no... not now,_ Brom thought. He was stressed enough as it is, and waiting for -

"KINSMAN!"

Brom had tried his utter best to duck underneath the guard's arms, but was still swept up by the length and sheer size of them before being forcefully turned around and glared at the helmet towering above him.

"What makes you sprint like a horse, fellow kinsman?" the guard asked, still maintaing his vice grip on Brom's arms. He seemed unaware of the injuries Skulvar had given him earlier.

"I...need...to... get outside!" Brom spat, uncaring what the guard thought at this point. He wriggled his way out of the tight grip once more and rammed shoulder first into the gates before continuing his sprint.

 _He must be here, somewhere..._

It was good that it was night. Less people to bump into and focused patterns of light made it easy for Brom to avoid most obstacles and get to where he wanted to go as quickly as possible. The wind was luckily behind him, propelling him forward down the stone train and close to the stables. Almost immediately, Brom grew concerned as he saw multiple figures – at least eight or more – standing right outside the stables. Many horses neighed beside them, clearly underfed but prepared to travel. To his minor relief however, he could discern Skulvar's voice easily from the group.

"Please, I beg of you, ask her to give us another chance... my boy won't trouble us again..."

"I am sorry Skulvar. The decision has been made, and - "

Brom stopped running, just in front of Skulvar and the large warrior he was talking to. He didn't process the next few words the warrior said, because he could not even understand what had _been_ said. How was the decision already made? Had it been a week already?

All of Brom's suspicions regressed into torment as he saw the lanky, arrogant frame of Ulundil stand just behind Skulvar, smirking mercilessly.

Brom immediately ran between the warrior and Skulvar, ending their conversation and drawing the attention of the other five.

"Skulvar," Brom breathed out in gasps. "I need to - "

"No," Skulvar interjected, turning his head down. "Do not ever speak to me again."

Brom stood there dumbstruck, while Skulvar continued his quiet speech – heavy with sadness. "I have packed all of your items. There is a small bag of septims laying by the pack. It should be enough to travel to any Hold you wish."

"Skulvar - " Brom tried again, voice threatening to break.

"Consider it a gift. Leave here, and do not come back. Or stay, use as many septims as there is then fend for yourself. In either case, please leave me alone."

Brom stood rooted to his spot as Skulvar nudged past the still smiling Ulundil and began the walk back into his home, feet dragging and head bowed very low.

"Master Skulvar, wait!" Brom called out, taking the time to frown at Ulundil before trying to catch up with Skulvar.

"Master?" Skulvar repeated, stopping and looking Brom in the eyes. "Did you call me...Master?"

"I - "

The pain to come was such a powerful contrast to anything Brom had ever experienced in his life. Before he could react, Skulvar swung his arm directly at Brom's midface, breaking the nose and cutting both lips as Brom felt his head rapidly turn to one side and collapsed on the ground, dazed in agony.

"DO NOT ADDRESS ME AS THAT, EVER AGAIN BOY!" Skulvar screamed, bending down to again look Brom in the face. Pure loathing coated his features. "IF YOU CALL ME THAT AGAIN, I SHALL DRAW MY SWORD AND SKIN YOU ALIVE!"

With that, he brought his foot down on Brom's already injured arm, sending a massive shockwave of pain up into his head – mixing badly with the already throbbing headache. Brom cried out as multiple wounds simultaneously pulsed, rhythmically causing him suffering as he kept his head down.

Thankfully, Skulvar's heavy steps seemed to recede, and promptly end as the Nord forced his way into his house. Brom braced himself on his knees and used his good arm to force himself up, although his lips and nose had begun swelling and warm liquid was now tainting his leather armor. He struggled to maintain balance as his head felt dizzy, stumbling on several rocks nearby and a strangely _still_ grinning Ulundil before Brom allowed himself to free fall the rest of the way.

Only he didn't.

Brom was about a foot away from hitting the ground when a pair of thin but hard arms coated with dragonscales held him jointly from the back. His vision was too dazed to see properly, but he made out the shapes of two faces: one blonde and bearded, the other holding him being dark-haired and oval-shaped. A mesh of voices began talking.

"Brom? Is that you?"

"You know this boy Lydia?"

"Old Skulvar finally lost it. I knew he was unstable. I bet you're glad with picking me now."

"Who's the runt?"

Brom blinked twice before gradually attempting to stand upright, aided by the soft hands pushing him forward and remaining on him until he was completely stable. Squinting, Brom saw the images of the Jarl and Lydia gradually focus in front of him.

"Who are you, boy?" Jarl Balgruuf asked, observing Brom shake. "And why are you bleeding from every place in your body?"

Brom wasted no time, turning to face Lydia and got down immediately on one knee.

"Dohvakiin," he gasped, bowing his head as submissively as possible. "I request a meeting with you."

Lydia seemed to instantly recognize Brom's motives and began shaking her head.

"I am sor - "

"Please."

Brom had said the word instinctively with raw emotion, and thus he had managed to stop her polite refusal in its tracks. He raised his head, vision being blurred by some fluid now collecting around his eyes – some warm and heavy, some translucent and clear.

" _Please._ "

His voice became progressively smaller and weaker, again trying to clear his eyes.

 _Stop crying in front of the Dragonborn_ , he told himself. _And the Jarl. And Ulundil. And six heavily muscled, hardened warriors. Fantastic_.

Brom kept staring at her until Lydia's gaze softened and lowered, quietly muttering something to Balgruuf and her companions. They seemed to express disapproval at first, but nodded their heads as Lydia spoke more. Quickly, she turned to him, gaze hardening once more.

"Come," she informed Brom, with brisk attention. "Follow me inside the camp."

Brom stood up, and was surprised to see a dirty white tent strung close to the ground and right opposite to the stables – he had not noticed that on the way here. Brom kept his eyes focused on the ground as he followed Lydia through the warriors and past Balgruuf, doing quick bows to both as Lydia beckoned him inside the tent. He smiled slightly at Lydia, who to his disappointment did not smile back – but offered a brief, sympathetic nod.

Walking inside the tent, Brom deduced that it was clearly not used for sleeping. There were not cots, no clothes were strewn about, and the only items inside included a tarp covering the grassland and multiple boxes of makeshift bandages stitched out of cloth. Some bottles were there as well, filled with what appeared to be some sort of very strong mead.

Lydia closed the tent flap and turned to face Brom, still quivering from the injuries and holding both hands to his nose and mouth. Brom opened his mouth to speak but was cut off once again by Lydia.

"Do you have some deathwish, boy?" Lydia reprimanded, still staring hard at Brom. "Or maybe – perhaps this was my fault."

Brom raised his eyebrows and tried to move his mouth, but both lips were now swollen to a large degree and his nose would not cease bleeding. His next words came out in a mumble and clutter of broken letters.

"Ish wunt too to tuk to - "

"Stop talking," Lydia commanded, bending down to pick up one of the bottles and a bandage. "Sit down."

Brom obeyed immediately, sitting cross-legged as Lydia bent down with him, observing him for a moment.

"Do you know how to use these?" she asked, extending both the bottle and the cloth to him. Brom, already feeling intrusive and defenseless, chose to lie.

"Yes," he told boldly to her. "I know."

She peered at him curiously, watching him quiver once more as he forced out a smile. Brom kept the smile up until she sighed and sat down in front of him, shaking then uncorking the bottle.

"Wait," Brom rang out. "I really do know how to - "

"Brom."

Her voice was not threatening or condescending, but rather tired but focused.

Brom nodded in defeat. "Right. Sorry."

Lydia placed her hands gingerly on the sides of his brow, gently guiding his head in different directions before making him hold it straight ahead.

"Don't move," Lydia again commanded, dabbing the cloth into the bottle briefly before withdrawing and applying it to Brom's bottom lip. "This might sting a bit."

Brom felt the pain, but it was nowhere near as horrible as getting floored by Skulvar was. He remained silent for a few seconds, letting Lydia work on both lips before interrupting. He knew he would have to interrupt soon and ask whether she was okay with replacing Ulundil first before he let her stitch his wounds.

"Couldn't you just apply a healing spell or something?" Brom asked, careful not to push boundaries, making his voice as grateful as possible.

"Couldn't you just not move like I asked you to?" Lydia fired back.

"I didn't move."

"You're moving your mouth."

"But I need to - "

"Stop. Talking."

Brom fell silent once more. Lydia's expression remained soft and open, but Brom could not understand whether she was deliberately avoiding talking about replacement or stitching him really was a delicate task that required her attention.

He monitored her hands as one of them moved away to grasp a small substance and coat two pieces of cloth with it, before applying it to Brom's lips. To his suprise, the bandage stuck and stemmed the blood flow.

"Healing spells help with cutting and piercing wounds," Lydia stated, pinching the bridge of Brom's nose. She began applying the cloth to his nose as well. "In your case, the flesh has been crushed and twisted – as well as cut. Better just to use conventional methods."

Brom felt the urge to nod, but remembered her previous words and blinked both eyes twice to signal he was listening to her answer. Lydia seemed to appreciate this and smiled impercetibly.

"Good," Lydia complimented. "Now roll up your sleeve."

Brom's lips and nose felt significantly better, and although the warmness remained, the fluid no longer was leaking out. He pulled the sleeve away from his arm.

Lydia's mouth opened wide and remained that way until Brom looked at his own arm.

Even _he was_ surprised. The arm was not just torn, but the two sites of injury had morphed from dark purple into deep-seated, bulging masses of mixed black, red, _and_ purple. Veins were clearly visible and the skin seemed to have burrowed into muscle and tissue, devouring itself and causing an outburst of rippled, torn flesh. Just looking at it made Brom feel nauseated.

"Nothing to do about this," Lydia finally managed to speak out. "I'll attach a tight cloth to keep most of the muscles from moving. These two will take a long time to heal."

True to form, Brom bent his elbow as Lydia applied an unrecognizable type of knot onto the cloth and wrapped it clearly around his arm. She stood up afterwards, still staring at Brom and waiting for him to get up. Brom understood this and got on his feet, stretching his spine as he rose upright.

"Move it around a bit," Lydia again asked. Brom obeyed, tilting and swiveling it for good measure. "All right, good. The knot seems to be sticking."

Brom nodded, keeping his eyes directly on Lydia, who again seemed understanding of his desire to talk. "Thank you," he managed at last.

"It only seemed right," Lydia replied. "I – clearly did not research Skulvar's history before giving my answer to you. I should have known he would react badly."

"Dragon - " Brom paused, seeing Lydia's face harden. " - I mean Lydia. Please, replace Ulundil with Skulvar and myse - "

"No," Lydia tersely stated, moving close enough to Brom to make him feel slightly uncomfortable. "And trust me when I say this: you should leave his service."

Brom chuckled, then stopped as soon as Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. "He's cast me out. Gave me some septims and my belongings. Looks like the choice was made for me."

"Even better then," Lydia added. "Find yourself a place somewhere else. Somewhere. It doesn't even have to be far away. Find a good job and keep it. Consider yourself unbound to Skulvar."

Brom remained silent, unsure of what to say next. "I don't think of him that way."

Lydia's eyebrows rose again. "The man made you bleed and nearly faint on the ground. And you're how many – sixteen years?"

Brom opened his mouth to protest, but Lydia shut him down again.

"Find someone else," Lydia urged, turning back as she had seemed to hear one of her companions calling for her.

Brom frowned sadly. "Like who?"

Lydia seemed to evaluate these words for a moment, blinking and then lowering her head to stare at the floor. Her companions' calling was clearly audible now, even to Brom. Lydia rubbed at her brow.

For a brief moment, Brom almost expected her to say something that he knew was implausible and unbefitting of the Dragonborn. He entertained the thought in his head, imagined her saying it, then realized how unrealistically stupid it was to even think of it.

"I don't know," Lydia muttered. "Someone. Surely."

 _Was she thinking the same – no, of course not_.

Brom realized he was wasting valuable time, and one of Lydia's companions had even stuck his head in now, armored helmet shaking in disapproval as she shooed him away.

Brom bit his lip and changed his approach as a sudden idea hit him. "But what if were, to say – follow you? Would that be all right?"

Lydia appeared confused. "What would be the point of that? We wouldn't need you both – or even use the either of you. You would simply be fending for yourselves, just like an entirely different group altogether."

Brom clasped his hands together and looked at Lydia earnestly before he repeated his plan to her again. "That's right. Please. Let us do that."

"I can't stop you from doing that," Lydia objected. "There is no law that prevents you from doing that. But - "

Brom, too anxious to wait for her, cut in. "But what?"

Lydia sighed. "But that would be idiotic. Why would you do that to yourself? To him? It's a dangerous task, and if he ended up asking me directly, I would tell him that you lied to him."

"Let me worry about that," Brom retorted. "So can we?"

Lydia paused, face saddening. "So why are you doing this?"

Brom paused, and squashed the instinct that came from his heart and gave the one he had prepared. "Because I want to pay Skulvar back. Because of gratitude. And after that – I'm done with him."

"Is that really the reason?"

Brom stood firm, still trying to crush his instinct. "Yes."

Lydia lowered her head, face unreadable. "Do what you want." She turned and without another glance, moved out of the tent.

Brom followed her out, but was dismayed to see her already mounting on top of her horse. He forced Lydia out of his thoughts, along with their conversation, before walking to the stables.

Most of the activity of the city was dying out, and the moonlight shining was pleasant to feel on see and it soothed him oddly. Brom watched as the multiple horses all were mounted by the warriors and Ulundil, alongside Lydia. Brom caught a glimpse of some words exchanged between Lydia and the Jarl, before Balgruuf shook her hand and began the steps upward into Whiterun – accompanied by a small taskforce of guards.

He wondered why there was no crowds gathering to see the Dragonborn off, but it became obvious that very few people – if any, knew that the Dragonborn was leaving tonight. Speaking of which, Lydia had appeared in front of the group, helmet on and looking back at Brom. He held her stare for a few moments, before she slowly moved her head away and motioned for the others to follow her.

Brom waited several minutes – until the group was well past hearing range and into the folds of darkness before turning back to the stables, no longer feeling the pain associated with movement. The bandage she had tied was stiff, but effective. In his haste, he had unknowingly stepped right in a pile of manure.

 _By Talos_ , he swore.

A glint.

Something caught his eye, but it was so faded and trampled upon that he wondered if it was the same thing he was thinking about. Lying a few feet from the manure in the middle of the grass, were a pair of hide bracers inscribed with silver letters. Brom walked over to them and clutched them in his hands.

 _Brom Ven._

He clutched the bracers hard, with determination and expectations, turning his head towards the lonely house and trekked a confident path forward.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _I enjoyed writing this chapter quite a lot, probably the most out of any chapter written thus far._

 _Proof-reading is getting better: will start doing double-checks for typos and grammar from now on. Re-published chapters (with fixed grammar and spelling) coming soon as well – but I have to admit this pace is irregular for me. Two chapters in less than two days... I fortunately have plenty of free time now but later on in time (a month or two) I'd say the series would start having weekly updates rather than daily. But for now, enjoy and thanks to all!_

 _~TWa_


	6. Different and Similar

**Different and Similar**

* * *

To Lydia's surprise, Ulundil was performing his job with a dedicated seriousness. Her group had barely crossed Greenspring camp in nearly a week, and Ulundil had forcefully navigated himself to the front of the group. The Altmer issued orders and recommedations without requests, stating directions that seemed to be unnecessary. To her knowledge, only the roads _surrounding_ Solitude were stuck with poor traveling conditions – but there was no need for navigation until they reached there. Ulundil seemed to ignore this and believe himself to be neccessary at every step of the way.

More pressingly, Lydia was disappointed with the group's progress – crossing Greenspring camp was to be done on the fourth day, (according to Egvir's calculations) yet they were seven days into the journey. The climate had remained relatively temperate as well, so there was no discernible excuse as to why the journey was prolonging itself.

"Keep moving left, avoid the hill!" Ulundil cried out in front of her.

Lydia scoffed. She wondered if the Altmer was purposely misleading them and taking them through a longer path – after all, the reward grew in proportion to the amount of days spent on the road.

She turned back, checking for what seemed like the thousandth time to make sure all members of the group were present. Traveling on horsenack meant that they stuck to the road as much as possible, but occasionally a straggler would fall behind if the terrain proved to be a bit too steep or confusing. Ulundil of course, never helped with this.

"We're all still here," came a soft voice from behind her, figure swathed in heavy steel armor. It was riding atop a quite large horse, significantly bigger than the rest the travelers were using. Lydia could make out two dashing eyes peeking from underneath a helmet. "Do not worry!"

Lydia smiled at Bok, who was checking behind himself to make sure his companions were there as well. Lydia observed five figures following closely behind on horseback, and identified them by shape of armor. Three heavy and broad figures rode behind Bok, while two lean but tall forms rode behind the four. In this way, she was fairly certain that her male companions were in the front (unlikely to be other warriors their sizes), and the slim forms of the back flank confirmed it as Egvir and Brit. Lydia chuckled as she noted the natural gender separation – the two women chatting away in the back, while the males joked in the front.

Just out of the corner of her vision, riding so far away from Lydia's group that they could be easily mistaken for strangers – were two hazy shapes, both riding two black horses. She frowned before turning ahead.

Unknown to Lydia, Brom had noticed that glare – even from far away.

"Boy! What is it?"

Brom turned to Skulvar riding beside him, curiosity shining from his face.

"Nothing," he lied. "Just thought I saw something, then realized it was nothing."

Skulvar huffed and sped up slightly, his horse galloping away as he rode slightly in front of Brom.

Brom shuddered, recalling their previous encounter nearly a week ago in the stables at night. He had waited for Lydia's group to move quite far away before he walked into Skulvar's house, brandishing the leather bracers at him before Skulvar tried to throw him out. Once Brom had explained the situation, he was – at the very least – expecting an apology. Instead, Skulvar had chose to nod silently at the end of it, convinced of Brom's lie and shook his hand. It was a mark of respect, and maybe even hope for forgiveness later – but Brom could care less about that part. In his mind, this lie also bound him to traveling with Skulvar and Lydia's group, or else Skulvar would realize the truth and Brom's guilt over his lack of gratitude would be stuck with him forever. Brom also knew that part of his lie entailed somehow explaining to Skulvar why they were following so far behind Lydia's group – although this even more poorly constructed. Brom had told the Nord that Ulundil was violent and might react badly to the presence of a second navigator, which Skulvar immediately swallowed up – probably due to his own perpetuating hatred against the Altmer.

This, however, did not save Brom if Skulvar had decided to speed up and join Lydia, who had promised before to immediately out him. Brom had informed Skulvar repeatedly that everyone in the group knew that they were joining – only Ulundil was left ignored.

The only part of the lie left unattended however, would be how Skulvar would receive the reward promised at the end of their journey – Brom had not found a satisfactory story to cover that up. He mused over begging Lydia to spare a few septims and maybe a useless artifact to please Skulvar. After all, Brom was sure that the man was far more interested in mere traveling "with" the Dragonborn than actually receiving a reward. Indeed, all of these lies had worked precisely because of Skulvar's sycophantic nature – his quest to serve under the Dragonborn had presumably clouded the rational parts of his brain.

"Hurry up boy!"

Brom sped up his pace slightly, annoyed that Lydia's group was choosing to venture through the inclined grasslands than stick to the road. He could have sworn that he saw Ulundil at the forefront of the group – and considering his shifty nature – it would make sense that the Altmer was merely trying to pocket as many septims as possible. This was corroborated by the fact that Brom and Skulvar had camped at least six or seven times at night behind Lydia's group, which seemed long even to Brom – and he had minimal experience traveling outside Riften and Whiterun. From what he knew, Riften to Whiterun was roughly the same distance as Whiterun to Solitude was – and it had taken him a month to escape from the orphanage and end up working in the Whiterun stables.

Again another glance from her.

Brom could not see Lydia's head over such an extended distance, but knew it was turning towards him since it remained rotated for a while before shaking and returning to her initial position. Even from such a long distance, he could read her disapproval like a map. Every day for seven days she would occasionally turn back and appear disappointed to see he was still following.

Speaking of maps, Brom turned backwards while keeping a free hand on the horse reigns. He reached into the strung knapsack, happy that he had packed the bare minimum of supplies – a large foldable bedroll, a simple fire-starter kit featuring flint and steel, and a rusty sword just in case he would run into an unfortunate event. Skulvar had smartly decided to carry the food, his horse nearly overburdened from the weight of the Nord and the large bags of food strapped on.

Brom dug around a bit in the knapsack, twitching every now and then as the wounded arm from before had still not completely healed – although Lydia's bandage had greatly accelerated the recovery. He was able to still use it, and perhaps even perform motions with it – an invaluable skill when cooking at nights around Skulvar, who seemed to take Brom was a professional cook and bossed his skills around for his own use.

Brom extracted a rolled up map and unscrolled it to peer around the center. He knew they had crossed the Greensprings several hours ago, and according to Ulundil's "directions" they ought to be reaching the notorious Talking Stone Camp within a day or two. To the best of his knowledge, Giants occupied that particular camp – Brom knew that Lydia's priority would be to avoid conflict before fighting, as a peace treaty between the Giants and other creatures was still in full effect. Still, he regretted bringing the old sword without at least taking it to the Warmaiden for sharpening – he had only minutes to pack back at the stables before leaving.

Screams of fear and anger simultaneously broke out.

Brom sped up his horse. From what he could tell, Lydia's group had come to a dead halt – five of six warriors remained rooted to their spots a few thousand feet away, and the foremost one and Lydia were inching forward. And to Brom's great enjoyment, Ulundil was cowering behind the two slim warriors at the back of the ground.

Brom understood why immediately. A massive man – at least twice to thrice the size of Lydia – was brandishing his club haphazardly and into the air. The Giant, like most other of his kinsmen, was lean and tall, pale skin stretched across sinewy muscle tissue. To Brom's surprise, he saw the warrior next to Lydia at the front of the group slowly retreat – despite Lydia holding her ground. He could hear her commands even from his distance.

"Stay back, all of you!"

Brom was momentarily confused, as the Talking Stone Camp was still an hour or two away; yet despite this, a lone straggler Giant was lumbering all the way out here. He had no mammoth – which Brom took positively, but also meant that he had been cast out by the rest of his kinsmen. True to form, the still enraged Giant had suffered a number of gashes across his exposed torso and across his club arm.

He noticed that Lydia was speaking an odd, guttteral language with striking resonance. The Giant seemed to press forward and push her space back at least fifteen paces before she would scream and make him stop. He did this repeatedly however, and Brom soon found himself within throwing distance of the six warriors (retreating with Lydia) and Ulundil.

"Skulvar!" he cried out, shock taking over as he could see the Nord's overencumbered horse – but the rider had left. Brom spun around for a while on his horse before fright took hold of him.

Skulvar – running on foot and waving a warhammer around madly – had decided to sprint right into the middle of the chaos, thankfully sidestepping the warriors and Ulundil.

Brom gave his horse a light kick, accelerating forward as fast as he could go. Circumventing the crew, he caught a glimpse of the Giant now threatening Lydia actively, swinging his club just meters from the top of her head. Skulavr was only forty paces away.

"The idiot," Brom muttered. "Skulvar!"

And he extended his reach so that he could grasp the back of Skulvar's leather armor, pulling it back as much as he could before the latter whipped around and stared angrily at him.

"The Dragonborn can handle this," Brom warned, trying to calm his obviously frightened horse as the Giant made more loud noises. "Leave it alone!"

Dismayed, Skulvar slapped Brom's hand off and again raised the warhammer like a child, jaunting over to Lydia and the Giant, forcing Brom to follow.

He was getting uncomfortably close now. The Giant – if he had wanted to – could take three steps forward and squish Brom like a cheese wheel. Lydia, ears turning back into curiosity then anger, was the first to speak.

"Get back you fools!" she exclaimed, although Brom was not entirely sure if she knew it was Skulvar and himself, instead of her band of companions.

The Giant was quite agitated, taking the first strike against Lydia as he swung his club wildly, missing all three heads as it flew up into the air once more.

"I said get bac - "

Lydia's mouth remained agape as she saw Brom's face first, then Skulvar as he broke free from Brom's grasp and began running towards the Giant, foolishly swinging his warhammer. Lydia had turned half-way to try and prevent him from moving, but it was in vain.

The Giant, seeing this distraction as the perfect opportunity, brought his club down once more in a sweeping motion towards Skulvar and Lydia. Skulvar – who was on foot and thus shorter than Lydi a – easily ducked underneath the club while Lydia's body went careening into the air. Brom saw her dazed face pass him as her back landed squarely on the precipice of a massive boulder sitting nearby. She laid motionless on top of it, the six warriors behind Brom gasping and beginning to withdraw their swords and move towards Lydia – presumably to start a defensive circle.

"No! Get back Skulvar, plea - " Brom began, but again stopped speaking as Skulvar's warhammer had met its mark on the Giant's knee, causing him to roar in pain. Brom knew that the pain was only mild and probably only served to aggravate the beast.

In fact, the goliath performed the same sweeping motion with an open palm directly at Skulvar's legs. Brom winced as he could audibly hear the cracking of bone as Skulvar's ankles gave way and the Nord was literally swept off his feet. Skulvar almost seemed to fold in on himself once he hit the ground, warhammer falling a few feet away from him.

"AUGH!"

Thinking quickly, Brom picked up a large handful of pebbles nearby and threw them directly into the Giant's eyes. Disoriented, the behemoth roared once more as Brom withdrew his sword and prepared it shakingly as the Giant recovered his balance and raised his arm once more towards Brom. He wrapped his arms around his torso, preparing for the worst.

"FUS - "

Brom struggled to understand the word, then realized what was to come and wrapped his arms around his head and kept his body close to the back of his horse.

"RO DAH!"

An enormously powerful burst of air, or rather energy, passed Brom as the Giant immediately was knocked off his feet and landed several hundreds of paces away. Brom kept his head down, feeling two more bursts of air accompanied by loud shoting pass him as the Giant repeatedly kept flying away, eventually standing up and running off into the depths of the nearby forestry.

Still shaking slightly, Brom dismounted his horse and began to make his way to the downed Skulvar, both feet twisted oddly sideways in a manner normal feet should not be in.

A sharp, biting pain.

Brom felt his head almost explode from pressure as a rigid elbow made contact with his ears forcing him to the grass alongside Skulvar. He blinked once or twice as the sun now shone directly into his eyes, before the light was masked by a tall, ominous frame – jagged in shape and imposing from his angle.

"Get up," Lydia's voice immediately rang out, seizing Brom by the hair and dragging him painfully upwards. "You should be grateful that I used my elbow instead of my sword."

Brom's head was throbbing, and he had landed on his injured arm when Lydia had floored him as well. Fortunately, the bandage was thick and heavy enough to absorb the blow, but his arm had once again begun pulsating.

Just a bit away, the six warriors and Ulundil, swords drawn out and helmets off, approached Brom and Skulvar with highly menacing stares. Brom deduced that at some point Lydia had told them about his lie to Skulvar, but now they seemed to like nothing better than to kill them both.

The seven had surrounded Brom and Skulvar, waiting anxiously as they all held their helmets to their sides – the typical stance associated with executioners. To Brom's surprise, he noticed a variety of different faces: two freakishly tall Nord women, a couple Bretons, a stunningly handsome Orc and an older Redguard. All faces looked irate and ready to attack, still holding their swords up at Brom and the moaning Skulvar. Lydia seemed to be encouraging this.

"Dragonborn... it was an honor to be hurt for your cause - " Skulvar attempted, clutching his ankles on the ground.

"Be quiet you moron," Lydia reprimanded, still holding Brom by the hair and turning his head towards him, deliberately forcing it even further down so her face engulfed his vision. "And _you_ are hereby under arrest."

Brom opened his eyes in surprise. "For what?"

"Endangering the lives of my companions," Lydia began, holding a hand to Brom's mouth to keep him from arguing. "Instigating a fight with a Giant. Bringing your stupid excuse of a Master to - "

"Dohvakiin," Skulvar announced, still rubbing his ankles. "My apologies if I interrupted – Aaahh!"

Brom was unable to do anything but simply witness as Lydia lightly pressed her heel onto Skulvar's right ankle, pain shooting through him like a firebolt as the writhed within the grass.

"You are tremendously foolish," Lydia continued, removing her foot from the bruised foot. "And you are also under arrest – possibly for exhibiting even greater stupidity - "

And she shook Brom by the hair, hard: " - than this one."

Brom's hair was being gripped with such force that he found it difficult to maintain eye contact with Lydia, who was now staring at the Redguard warrior.

"Sot," she proclaimed, eyes lightly twinkling as she mentioned his name, "fetch me some rope from your horse. Make sure it's sturdy."

Sot nodded quickly, returning the eye twinkle with a slight smile before calming his own horse and searching within his knapsack. Lydia turned to the two Bretons.

"Hahkun and Wuth," she pointed with her free hand, "ride to Whiterun and inform them that we are taking two of their own as prisoners to be tried in front of the largest Imperial court possible in Solitude. Whiterun won't suffice for these traitors. The two of you ought to keep each other safe."

The apparently twin Bretons seemed grateful to be together for a task. They nodded, putting their helmets on and riding away from the entire group – back the way they had been traveling.

"The rest of you all, stay with us," Lydia addressed the four remaining warriors and Ulundil, tone harsh but firm. "Find it Sot?"

Sot came to her with a thick coil of rope, occasionally tugging it from either end to test for its strength before handing it to her.

"Now as for you, Master Skulvar - " Lydia began with derision, motioning for the two Nord women to hold Skulvar up by the underarms. "Your boy has told you a fantastic, very well-crafted lie."

Skulvar seemed dumbstruck, but Ulundil reappeared behind Lydia with a look of smug concern.

"I told you we should have made sure Skulvar knew properly," the Altmer mentioned, elegance and disgusting smugness palatable off his tongue. "We should have checked behind ourselves to make sure we were not followed."

"Enough," Lydia cut him short. "Bok, walk around the area to make sure any other stragglers know not to follow us. Take Ulundil with you."

The large Orc complied, beckoning for Ulundil to follow him away from Lydia – who made one last smug face at Skulvar before leaving. Lydia turned to the Nord women holding the limp form of Skulvar.

"Tell him about the boy's lie," Lydia requested. "Spare no details, so he fully understands."

Brom felt his hair pulled away from Skulvar as Lydia shoved him forward for a few paces so that they were both out of audible range from the Nord women, who as they spoke Skulvar's face seemed to die slowly.

"You did not heed my advice boy," Lydia spat at Brom, finally letting go of his hair. "And worse, you did not even follow your own advice properly."

Brom remained silent, bowing his head and shrugging his shoulders. "I did not expect Skulvar to be so – defensive of you."

"You clearly misjudged it then," Lydia firmly spoke. "The man's as much of a sycophant as he is stupid."

Brom – captivated by some stupid portion of his brain – chose that moment to smile slightly. He watched as Lydia's nostrils flared and she extended the rope in her hand.

"Turn around and keep your arms close to your body," she commanded.

Brom jumped a few paces back. "No! Wait, please, let us go back at least. There's no reason to try us in front of court!"

Lydia raised and eyebrow and laughed scornfully. "There is _many_ reasons to try you and your idiotic Master in front of court. You must pay for nearly wounding me, putting my companions lives' at risk – and an Altmer horseman to boot."

"I didn't do any of that!" Brom screamed. "The Giant did! I was just trying to keep Skulvar from dying!"

"I am the Dragonborn!" Lydia yelled, although Brom could detect slight remorse at being forced to default to that. "I was talking to the Giant! I had the situation under control! Even after your mistake of letting Skulvar go, you still chose to follow him and put both of your lives – and mines – in peril."

"Peril," Brom repeated with animalistic hatred. "You, the Dragonborn in peril. You shrugged off that club blow like it was an annoying honey fly. You were definitely in peril, I assume."

Lydia clenched her teeth and repeated her command earlier to Brom. "Turn around."

Brom hardened his face and jaw. "No."

Lydia scoffed, rolling her tongue around in her cheek before mockingly appearing concerned. "Aww, is that so boy? Do you feel rebellious, saying such a thing to my face?"

Brom's fist was quivering, and Lydia had evidently noticed this. "Turn around. Now."

He stood his ground. "I. Said. No!"

Lydia held his words for a while before making the first move at grabbing him. Brom, expecting this, spun about and attempted to sprint away. He could see his horse, still standing next to Skulvar and the two Nord women – although Skulvar's face was no longer appeasing at all. He wondered how much truth they had told him.

Again, the merciless pulling returned. His hair had been yanked back once more, and this time Lydia had effectively forced his head down enough so that he now looked at her face upside down, balance unsteady and threatening to fall down. She placed her free hand on his back, and almost instantenously Brom felt deep waves of tiredness make their way through him.

 _Magic_ , he pondered. _Of course_.

"Relax," Lydia breathed, mouth naturally close to his ear. "I'm trying to do this in the most humane way possible."

Brom was fighting it, but sleep was welling and conquering most of his mind's functioning, his body slowly giving in to the powerful spell. One side of him felt grateful she was not forcing him to the ground with a knee to his back then tying him up, but the other side felt uncomfortable being this vulnerable and helpless in front of her – an emotion he had experienced several times over.

Lydia's face seem to return to a place of immense regret and apprehension, for a while almost twirling Brom's hair in her fingers. "Tell me... why did you do it? Why save him?"

Brom found it increasingly difficult to speak, body forcefully relaxing itself as the small pressure on his back strengthened.

"Because... of... guilt," Brom barely muttered out, legs slowly buckling outward. "You... wouldn't understand... how... horribly merciless... guilt is..."

To his surprise, Lydia blinked twice and briefly looked to the Redguard, frowning a bit before her eyes seemed to travel to some place very far away – remote and isolated, and Brom could not read her expression anymore. Her tight hold over his hair loosened, and her hand accomodated t to fit his back as he naturally started to fall inward. His eyes gradually closed as the pressure on his back started emitting a cooling sensation. He could feel himself giving in, and he hated it, and yet as he was being lowered the grass felt increasingly more comfortable. He wasn't sure whether he heard a voice or not at the end, just before letting go completely.

"I do. More than you know."

To Brom, it sounded kind – even regretful – and it felt right.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Another chapter I thoroughly enjoyed writing! Yes, the updated chapters are coming with grammatical fixes, I'd just prefer to release them all at once instead of one at a time._

 _I realized now that the story might be written a bit confusingly, but I'm working on improving it! I feel all the events are well-connected, and I'm trying to cram in as many visual details and narrative specifics as possible without making it overly wordy. Suffice to say, I think if anyone starts at Chapter 1 and works their way through – it should all make sense._

 _Thanks to all!_

 _~TWa_


	7. Torches and Bruises

**Torches and Bruises**

* * *

Within his first three seconds of consciousness, Brom's first instinct was to scan the surrounding area for Skulvar. This proved difficult however; from what he could tell, it was clearly midnight and he could barely see a few feet in front of him – if not for floating arms and torches illuminating the landscape. Behind, four warriors rode in a semi-circular fashion – obviously to discourage Brom from escaping. Ulundil rode in front of Brom, tall form making dramatic changes in pace and direction before announcing it to the entire world. Lydia – who was riding beside him and sporting a torch in her left hand – audibly grumbled every time Ulundil opened his mouth.

The air was cold and incredibly still, with no breeze being present as the sounds of nature and other creatures seemed to not exist as they made their trek across a particularly steep section of grassland. Brom, lacking his map and being tied up, was unable to gain a bearing on where they were going.

And to add to Brom's concern, no sign of Skulvar or his horse was anywhere to be found. He would have reached for his map hidden beneath the knapsack, but his arms were bound to his torso with thick, fibrous rope – and it was tied too tightly to even fidget around, much less move a free arm. He had absolutely no control of the horse he was riding, although a light harness connected his horse to Lydia's palm as she guided it forward alongside him.

"Where is he?" Brom demanded, contented at least to note the lack of throbbing in his injured arm. "Where is his horse?"

"He is of no concern to anyone, anymore," Lydia stated rather simply, eyes still remaining forward-looking.

"What does that mean?" Brom tried once more, desperately turning his torso in her direction. "What did you do to him?"

Lydia took a few moments to lower her gaze before tugging the harness to bring the horse closer. "Nothing. He ran off."

Brom's eyes went wide. "He _ran_ off? And you couldn't catch an old Nord with two broken ankles?"

Lydia shook her head. "He took your horse and made off with it. The horse you are riding is his – or was his."

Brom rapidly turned down to observe that indeed it was not his horse. He could not even see the difference due to the incredible darkness; its knapsack was filled with sacks of food and other utensils instead of the useful map and other devices Brom had packed within his.

"I think he's happy that his load has been lightened," Lydia cooed, using her harness hand to lightly pet Skulvar's mare.

Brom pressed further. "How did he escape from those two Nord women – Brit and Egvir?"

Lydia shook her head again. "He did not. I asked them to release him before asking him to come peacefully. I explained how serious his crime was, and how his punishment would follow. Sot - "

She paused for a moment, noticing Brom's confused expression. " - or the Redguard, brought your horse close to him. As soon as he was elevated onto it, he unsheathed a dagger and slashed away at Sot, who predictably disarmed Skulvar."

Brom's heart was beating in his throat. Skulvar had just tried to attack a companion of Lydia's, and was now disarmed... fearing what was to be said next, Brom lowered his head.

Lydia continued. "Skulvar rode off on horseback," and she turned to Brom, smiling sympathetically. "And your horses can really sprint."

Brom did not return the smile, keeping his eyes fixed on the passing grass and rocks. "You let him go. Into the wilderness. With no food."

"Yes," Lydia agreed, again tugging at the harness. "He probably will not survive for long. To be frank, I really could care less what his fate was. That is why none of us chased him. He was not heading off towards Whiterun however."

"You practically gave him a death sentence," Brom spat. "He's at least 10 days away from any village or Hold. He has no food or water. He'll be slaughtered by bandits and raiders before he even has the chance to sleep for a night."

"Is that so?" Lydia pronounced, mocking him. "How unfortunate."

Brom felt his chest well up with anger. His hatred of Lydia was bubbling inside him, and he felt such an intense urge to rip apart his rope and kick her off her horse. As this was impossible, he settled for remaining silent, letting more violent thoughts loose in his head.

"I'm surprised to see that you don't seem to care about _your_ fate," Lydia broke in.

That was true. Brom knew that with his situation it was pointless to argue anything. In his knowledge, the court at Solitude would likely convict him for deliberately attacking the Dragonborn, then order an execution within a fortnight. Brom was doomed – and he had no method of escape either.

"Execution," Brom breathed out, relaxing into the rope. "My life is over. Or it will be – soon."

"Not quite," Lydia interrupted, pulling the harness closer. "What I said back there was just a formality."

Brom perked his ears up, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Why would I execute someone – a boy of sixteen years no less – for being a grand, blithering idiot?" Lydia asked.

Brom involuntarily let a chuckle out, then cursed himself for doing so. "Why did you say I was going to be tried at Solitude, then?"

"To keep my companions from killing you," Lydia responded. "After all, you _did_ just distract me long enough to be clubbed by a Giant."

Brom sighed in annoyance, suppressing his own internal voice of dissent. "What are you going to do to me, then?"

Lydia smiled kindly at this. "We will reach Rorikstead in a few days' time. I will cut you loose at night, then go and hide in the cellar of Frostfruit Inn. I'll convince my companions to leave you alone and we shall proceed onto our travel to Solitude with Ulundil."

Brom's jaw dropped. "How will you convince them of that?"

Lydia grinned broadly, although her happiness was not directly associated with Brom – rather it seemed to be more for her group. "They are almost nothing like what you or Skulvar have imagined them to be – they're a playful and forgiving lot. They just need time to cool down their, erm, _murderous_ impulses. Quite loyal to me, so that's understandable."

Brom began a small smile. His memories and connection to Skulvar seemed distant now, replacing itself with something far more present and strongly addictive – feelings quickly being redundant and invigorated. "So what happens to me then, after you leave?"

Lydia seemed perplexed, pushing her torch up a bit higher to see better. "You decide that part yourself. You may stay and find a job in Rorikstead, travel back to Whiterun, find your destiny somewhere..."

"Right," Brom agreed, feeling his heart sink for some unidentifiable reason. "Right. Find my own destiny."

"And this time - " Lydia cautioned, voice returning to a softness and warmth he had not seen her use since the night she had stitched him up. " - please take my advice Brom. Consider yourself free from all the mistakes you have made before. Start over somewhere else. You're still young. You have plenty of decisions to make in the future."

Brom had heard his speech before, once from Skulvar in a drunken fit when he had initially relocated to Whiterun.

"And don't ally yourselves with – _unhinged_ characters such as Skulvar," Lydia advised. "Stick to those with bravery, loyalty and honor..."

"SOMEONE LIKE HER MAJESTY, THE DRAGONBORN!"

Lydia's face twitch returned, Brom recognizing the voice as Ulundil's. Lydia seemed conversely offended by this.

"KEEP YOUR EYES AND EARS IN FRONT OF YOU ALTMER!" she screamed, arousing light chuckles from behind her as the four warriors closely following shifted their massive shoulders in laughter.

Lydia returned her attention to Brom. "For example, people like my companions or a person like Jarl Balgruuf, or - "

" - someone like you?" Brom tentatively interjected.

A few seconds of silence ensued. Brom almost thought he had offended her again, but then Lydia smiled deeply – and it was a different kind of smile than he had seen before – before answering. Her words were modest and pleasant, but she was undeniably happy with his comment.

"Yes," she softly mentioned. "Someone like me, I suppose. Thank you for that."

Brom relaxed a bit, twirling around in his rope confines. "I should be thanking you for doing all of this for me. I have – one less responsibility to worry about. I can start fresh."

"Indeed," Lydia agreed, again pulling the harness towards her. "And if you are receptive to another piece of advice, Brom - "

Brom turned his head closer to her, smiling once more. Lydia continued: " - do not allow guilt to slow you down."

Brom noted that her eyes were oddly glazed yet fierce when she said this. Just laying outside the reach of the torchlight, he could have sworn he saw her lips quiver slightly before pursing back into the mouth. Her words were shaky, but her voice seemed determined.

"Right," he agreed. "Thank you."

Lydia nodded, lips quivering every once or now, but seemed resilent. Brom was not sure how much he was attached to Skulvar anymore – and Lydia had made enough valid points to seriously change his position.

 _He gave you a job, when no one else would_ , Brom corrected inside of his own head.

 _He exploited your desperation_ , another equally strong, opposing voice rang.

 _He gave you food and shelter_.

 _He fed you rotten fruit and gave you a bed near horse manure._

 _He put clothes on your back when you came to him with rags._

 _You stole those._

"No use thinking about and evaluating the past," Lydia interjected, waving the torch around in boredom. "It only serves to confuse your emotions even more."

Brom knew his response at once. "How did you know I was - "

"I've seen that specific face before," Lydia interrupted. "I know how it always leads to more sadness and confusion. Stop thinking about it and let your heart tell you what's right."

Brom thought about this. His first instinct to realizing he was out of Skulvar's life was pure joy, but should he trust that just because it was his impulse? Shouldn't he try to have an objective stance on what he had (or had not) done for Brom?

"You're doing it again Brom," Lydia rang out softly. Suddenly, she seemed concerned. "How is the arm?"

That's right, he had almost forgotten about it. Brom turned to Lydia with a raised, cocky eyebrow, then looked back at the rope tightened around his torso.

"Oh," Lydia realized, remembering the rope as well. "Right. Let me see here..."

She pulled the harness guiding his horse very close to her own horse, and looped it around her horse's neck. Using her free hand, she prodded at the thickly bandaged arm, eliciting no response from Brom.

"I asked Sot to tie it loosely around your bruises," Lydia announced. "How does it feel?"

"Good," Brom informed her, relishing the feeling as she poked and peeled at the bandage, letting cool night air brush against the exposed skin. "Shouldn't we be camping now?"

"We have lost a lot of time," Lydia remarked, then pulled Brom within whispering range. "And between you and me, I doubt Ulundil is taking us through the fastest way there. Cunning Altmer."

"Well maybe you should have gone with Skulvar and myself instead then," Brom interjected, half-smiling. "Maybe we could have done something different."

Lydia smiled, then all of a sudden raised her torch and stopped the horse, and by consequence stopped Brom's – or rather Skulvar's – horse.

"Stop! There is a group approaching."

Her command was obeyed by the warriors and Ulundil, who halted in their riding as a large group of horseback riders – at least twenty strong – appeared far away in front of Brom as he saw twenty lanterns shining brilliantly and notifying Lydia's entire crew that they were being approached. The group were strangely tall and broad, even more so than Lydia's companions – and all wore very dark, spiky symbols on their cloaks which glowed red in the darkness. Their movement was slow and paced, and most of them had their heads bowed down facing the ground. Only one member of their group rode slightly ahead of the others, raising his head to reveal a masked face.

"We come in peace, Dragonborn."

Brom instinctively trusted the voice. It was old and refined, yet optimistic and friendly. He watched as Lydia narrowed her eyes, clearly unsettled before turning to Brom.

" _Stay,_ on your horse." she demanded, as Brom nodded quietly. A cloaked figure from the large group emerged, riding on his horse very close to Lydia – who began gripping Brom's hand painfully.

"What's wrong?" Brom asked, hand twitching from the increasing force.

"Shh," Lydia urged.

"Greetings Egvir, Bok, Brit, and Sot - " the cloaked figure announced. " - and Dohvakiin."

Lydia gripped Brom's hand tighter. "What do you want?"

"Where is Hahkun and Wuth?" the masked man asked, staring at Brom's horse with intense interest.

"They are busy," Lydia half-lied, keeping her statement to the point and unfriendly. "What do you want?"

The cloaked figure unsheathed a small scroll of paper, handing it to Lydia then looked at Brom n the eyes – or what he could make out to be eyes, as Brom's hair was threatening to fall in front of his upper face.

"A bit odd to tie up what appears to be your younger brother, Dohvakiin," he stated.

Lydia blinked in embarassment, realizing the messages she was sending off by gripping Brom's hand so tightly. She let go of it. "He's not one of mine."

Although this was a true statement, Brom felt a twinge of discomfort as she released his hand so quickly.

He noticed that everyone seemed tense. The cloaked figures themselves appeared harmless, but Lydia's companions and herself were shaking slightly as the series of cloaked forms stood on their spot. Ulundil was greatly confused by all this, although he instinctively knew to keep his mouth shut. Brom twitched as Lydia and the cloaked rider whispered inaudible words to each other, every once and then stopping to stare at the onlookers (which in this case, was everyone) before turning back to their conversation. Brom noted that Lydia's body language had completely changed – whereas it had been previously assertive and confident, it was now careful, violent and defensive. The cloaked figure kept talking, and Lydia ended their conversation by tearing the scroll away from the man.

"Fine," she breathed out in clear tones. "Leave now."

The masked man ppeared to thank her before riding away on horseback. The form met up with the rest of its group before they gradually rode off into the darkness, groups of lanterns dimming with distance before vanishing completely.

"Who were they?" Brom asked, turning to Lydia again.

"Very bad people," Lydia vaguely rattled off, eyes still tracking the darkness. "Stay close to me, and keep your voice low. We will reach Rorikstead in a few days."

Her face lightened, looking at Brom again. "You might as well relax on your horse. We're not going to camp for tonight."

Brom seemed grateful, but also curious as Lydia rode away, pulling his horse with her. He watched the four in the back silently muttering to themselves. "How long did the spell keep me asleep by the way?"

Lydia chuckled, humor returning to her face. "Back at the Greensprings? Two days. I wanted to make sure you wouldn't resist for a while."

"That must be why I feel so hungry," Brom added, finally realizing why he felt so uncomfortable. "And thirsty."

Lydia pulled a small canteen out of her armor, motioning for Brom to tilt his head up and open his mouth. Although it felt embarassing to have to be fed water, he was instantly grateful as the cool liquid collapsed into his throat and immediately gulped it all in.

"Don't you want to eat?" Lydia asked.

Brom fidgeted, adjusting himself so that his head laid down on the back of the horse, giving his spine a bit of rest. "No. I'll eat tomorrow when I can see my own hands."

Lydia grinned before putting her hand on Brom's back – in the exact spot she had pressed on to force him to sleep earlier.

"I'm sorry for all this," she whispered. "I didn't mean for it."

"You could say I got myself into this," Brom fired back, enjoying the warmth from her hand slightly, but making sure she didn't notice this by turning his head away from her. "No matter. Rorikstead will give me new life."

Lydia moved her hand away. "Yes, I would hope so."

Despite the stress, Brom's expectations were soaring, but they were also closely tempered by his experience. There were at least fourteen different ways he thought of that could lead to prosperity in a new region – and he was excited to try them all out soon.

His mind turned to Skulvar. His fate had been left undecided, and Brom seriously doubted whether he would see the Nord again – probably thinking he was being hunted for treason against the Dragonborn, and only had Brom's useless sword to defend himself.

"Brom," Lydia interrupted his thoughts, "What did I say about thinking about the past?"

Brom nodded in shame and stared at her. The torchlight was just strong enough for him to see enough of her face: eyes that were brown, inviting and warm. He watched fixedly at them, the bruises Skulvar had given him beginning to throb less while Lydia's torch began growing ever brighter with the passing night air.

* * *

 _ **A/N**_

 _*grins smugly* Metaphors ftw._

 _A more restrained of a chapter, but fun to write nonetheless. Republished chapters (fixed grammar) coming end of today and tomorrow! (finally)_

 _Other news, I have plans to create a map jpg that everyone can view to see the path Lydia, Brom, and her group are taking – I tried to make destinations accurate, but made the destinations a bit longer to reach to achieve that fantasy-adventure-traveling feeling..._

 _And as always, big thanks to everyone for viewing and supporting._

 _~TWa_


	8. Enslaved and Free

**Enslaved and Free**

* * *

"They came back," Sot mentioned, loudly munching the rabbit leg in his mouth. "What did they say to you?"

Lydia furrowed her brow. "Nothing – and chew with your mouth closed for Talos' sake."

"Nothing, really?" Sot argued, closing his mouth regardless. "Great answer."

"It's nearing nighttime Sot," Lydia observed, still frustrated as Brom's horse constantly swerved to the right, forcing her to tug the harness back. It would have helped if Brom was awake. "Look around you – I'm much more focused on getting to Rorikstead than to what you're saying to me."

"We've been traveling for two days, without rest," Sot noted. "And as I look around myself, I realize I can't see anything at all."

Lydia mentally agreed with him. The darkness this particular night was so intense and all-consuming that even the torches were only able to illuminate the first few feet around them. It had been a great struggle to handle the wind as well, which was violent and blew with enough force to have extinguished two of Lydia's torches already. As a result, they had to move much more carefully than usual.

Additionally, since their encounter with the shadowy group of horseriders two nights ago, they had not stopped to camp – and as a consequence, their energy levels were at an all-time low. Egvir and Bok followed them in the back of the group, nearly half-asleep and struggling to maintain balance on their respective horses. Brit fared better – she was carrying Ulundil on her shoulder, mimicking Lydia as she pulled the Altmer's horse behind her. Lydia noted that without the Altmer's "help", they had crossed much more distance than they had done so before.

"We're a couple hours away from Rorikstead," Lydia informed Sot, who was still munching on food. "And yes, the darkness is not helping."

"Why don't you take a break for once?" Sot asked. "Everyone else has taken shifts."

"Because I actually cannot," Lydia responded, showing the harness connected to Brom's horse to Sot.

"I can do that," Sot told her. "I just woke up. It's my turn to be the look out anyway."

"No," Lydia refused.

"Doesn't your hand grow tired of gripping the boy's horse? And why does it matter? We might as well leave him and his traitorous horse out into the wind and leave him to die. That's what the Imperial Court would do anyway."

"No," Lydia repeated.

"What is this?" Sot spat, tone suddenly serious and critical. "Why have you been so untalkative? Ever since we left Whiterun – "

"I'm not doing anything to you that you do not do to me," Lydia replied, pursing her lips.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sot inquired, putting the food back into his knapsack.

"You are a harsh and closed off man," Lydia told him bluntly. "And you are not worthy spending any of my time on."

"Oh come now," Sot began, grasping Lydia by the arm while riding. "Is this about what I said in Dragonsreach?"

"It is about how you have consistently brushed off my attempts to get closer, Sot," Lydia breathed, twisting her arm out of his grip. "You confuse me, what with your wish to settle down and have a normal life yet push away one who so clearly wants to get you there."

Sot smiled ruefully. "I am too old for you Lydia."

"Balgruuf's wife is 20 years his junior," Lydia fired back. "Don't use that as an excuse."

"I am _not_ Balgruuf," Sot firmly responded, turning back to the ground in front of him.

"Oh yes," Lydia mocked. "I know that for a fact."

Sot was about to reply when he suddenly grabbed Lydia's arm and shook it painfully. "Lydia! Look, ahead!"

Lydia found this annoying and pulled her arm away. "What are you going on ab - "

"Look!"

Lydia obeyed him and squinted her eyes in front of her, shock flooding her as she saw a fully-armored guard standing right in front of her, weapon drawn and motiong for her to stop.

"Halt! What is your business here?" the guard asked, pointing his sword at the horse's chest.

"I am Lydia, _Dohvakiin_ and alongside me are my companions and – a few travelers. We are trying to - "

"Oh," he guard interrupted, his voice sarcastic and humorous. " _Dohvakiin,_ you say! Come here Daiten, we've got another crazy - "

Lydia cut this movement short, and opened her mouth to release a small burst of energy that hit the guard right in the face.

He staggered, shaking his head in disbelief. "My apologies, Dohvakiin, I did not recognize you without your, erm - "

" - ebony armor?" Lydia finished for him.

The guard thankfully nodded. "Yes. That. To what do I owe this great honor?"

Lydia took a moment to evaluate what was happening before asking a tentative question. "Are you on patrol?"

The guard nodded, then Lydia asked another question. "How far is Rorikstead?"

The guard shook his head and pointed directly behind him, and Lydia could make out at least four hazy outlines of stone huts, one of them with a violently oscillating sign that bore painted letters.

 _Frostfruit Inn_ , Lydia imagined. _It must be_.

Lydia turned back to Sot. "We're here."

Sot squealed in joy. "Oh, thank Talos! Not that I am tired, I just – yearn for the warmth and comfort of a bed again."

Lydia grinned, turning back despite the heavy wind to address the group behind her. "Egvir! Bok! Brit! We have reached Rorikstead!"

She had expected to hear several cries of joy, but evidently her crew was too sleep-deprived to make any shouts – oddly in contrast to Brit, who pumped both fists in the unforgiving air and let out a roar.

"Is that... _a woman_?" the guard asked, shocked after observing Brit's face from beneath the helmet.

Lydia chuckled. "Only if you want her to be."

"Got the jaw of a battle-hardened Orc warrior, doesn't she?" Sot rang in. "Of course, that could be useful for some things..."

Lydia lightly nudged Sot, before dragging Brom's horse harness closer and continued to ride towards the sign.

She continued for a few hundred paces, at the end joyfully being able to read the letter "F" as she approached. Lydia hastily dismounted. She ordered her other companions to dismount as well, tying her horse and Brom's to a nearby pole as her companions followed suit. The cold was becoming a bit unsettling, and even underneath the dragonscales her body began to shiver. She recited a small shout underneath her breath, filling her body with warmth.

"Think you could do that for me?" Sot asked, smiling like a fool.

"Get the others inside," Lydia commanded. "The cold will take us all to Sovngarde if we stay outside."

She turned to Brom's horse, observing the sleeping boy lying lazily across the horse's back.

She smiled.

He had tried his best to stay awake after she had met with the shadowy group, repeatedly afffirming to her that he was more than capable of handling the cold and had once gone without sleep for a week. Lydia had decided against calling his bluff in that moment, but knew this time his actions spoke for themselves.

"Brom," she began quietly, careful to run her fingers across the injured arm. "Get up."

Brom's form stirred for a while, finally forcing his head up and quivering at the same time.

"Where... are we?" the boy managed out in between yawns. Lydia let out an involuntary giggle as his dark hair masked his eyes, and he lazily swung his head back and forth – highly reminiscent of certain Proventus Avennicci.

"We're here," Lydia softly spoke, watching her companions and now-awake Ulundil walk into the Inn. "Come on."

Brom blinked hard twice before dismounting his horse and proceeding to follow Lydia. He watched as she pointed out the signpost for him, then walked up the stairs and stepped into the Inn.

Immediately, he felt relief. Warm, comfortable air had suddenly engulfed his face and heated his entire armor – while the wispy, powerful gusts of wind before had left him completely as Lydia shut the door behind him. The Inn, for the most part, seemed vacant – Rorikstead was not an especially popular place for travelers, but there was a lone, drunken bard passed out on the floor next to a deep, steaming fire. Kettles boiled and torches shined, and Lydia's companions along with Ulundil were standing patiently at the front of the Inn.

She yawned deeply, and for the first time in nearly three nights Brom was able to see her face. There were clear lines running away from the edges of her eyes, and her face appeared sunken and tired – almost as if she had not slept at all since her meeting with the mysterious group a couple nights back.

"Maybe you can loosen my ties now?" he began rather hopefully, nudging Lydia with his shoulder.

"Once we're inside a room," Lydia offered. "And you've got hair in your eyes."

Brom smiled, and realized that he was viewing the entire scene from behind multiple black strings running across his field of vision. He whipped his head back, letting the long hair fall to his shoulders as he waited patiently for Lydia to walk to the front of the Inn.

The owner took a moment of confusion before recognizing Lydia, who immediately shushed him with her voice.

"Quiet, quiet – we want to keep a low profile for now."

"Of course, Dragonborn!" the innkeeper breathed out erratically, face brimming with excitement. "How may I serve you?"

"We need - " and Lydia paused, surveying the room. "Seven rooms."

 _Lucky that Wuth and Hahkun are in Whiterun,_ Brom thought. Or had they began their journey back already?

"No cost for you Dragonborn – and your companions," the innkeeper managed, also captivated by Brit's jaw, before turning to face her. "Excuse me, are you a - "

"Yes, I am," Brit announced, slamming her fist on the table. "Are you going to make love to me?"

Brom nearly burst out with laughter.

"Erm," the innkeeper stuttered. "No..."

"Then we are done talking."

With that, Brit stalked off into an empty room, bringing Bok along with her. "We shall share this room, Lydia."

Brom watched as Lydia snickered quietly before flashing Brit a small smile. "Good."

Brit pulled Bok closer, and the handsome Orc took off his and her helmet, before closing the door behind them. Brom realized what was happening, and turned to Lydia. "How in the world - "

"They have similar faces, I assume?" Lydia attempted, although even she seemed unsure of her answer. "They say people with the best – lovemaking experiences – share similar faces."

Brom struggled to suppress a grin. "Good to know."

He watched as the rest of the warriors walked away to their respective rooms – save for the Redguard, who stood in his spot and faced Lydia.

She frowned at him, turning to face Brom. "Come meet me in my room when you are ready to talk."

Brom nodded and watched Lydia go off into her room, before moving away to his own room. Just before he could push open the door however, he felt a strong hand pull him back.

"Listen to me carefully boy," Sot began, looking at Brom in the eyes. "When you both meet to talk about your court trial, ask her why she is angry with me."

Brom nodded, confused why Sot knew about his midnight meeting, and even more perplexed as he cited a false reason for it. Brom was also afraid to ask the Redguard's name – which he had forgotten.

Sot continued. "Ask it subtly. Make sure she is not aware that you are asking it. Almost – sort of – try to slip it in, all right boy?"

Brom nodded. "Right. I will surely do so."

"Oh, and boy," Sot breathed dangerously. "If you try to escape during the night, I swear I shall slit your belly as a fisherman slits fish."

Brom again nodded stupidly, eyes glowing wide in fear.

Sot seemed convinced that he had left an impression, and let Brom go.

"I shall listen all night for your movements," Sot mentioned ominously, trekking off into his own room.

Brom wandered off separately, stepping into an empty space and closing the door with his head – behind him. He made his way over to the wool bed and sat down, chest wheezing heavily.

The truth of the matter was that his journey had been so eventful that he did not have any time to reflect upon what had happened. For all it was worth, the rope had surprisingly remained anchored to his torso and arms, and he had mostly lost feeling to both arms from lack of movement. Although he trusted Lydia when she told him that tonight was the night he was to be set free, he had not decided what to do with the other implication – handling the rest of life on his own.

 _I'm good at running, maybe I ought to compete in – no, that's stupid._

Brom mused over his bandaged arm, fidgeting it idly in boredom.

 _Maybe I could become a poet, and sell – no that's even more foolish._

Of course, he could always go back to stable work; so far, it had proved effective for him and he knew the pay was enough to surive – at least in the smaller cities where there the work was less regulated, taxes were not imposed, and people were far more trusting. Of course, he would not want to end up in the same situation he had been in before.

 _Skulvar_...

He had not even thought of him for three nights. He had been sleeping so irreguarly over the journey that he felt himself be tired and also awake at the same time; and every time he had slept along the route to Rorikstead since the Greensprings, he had nightmares of Skulvar laying dead in a ditch, hacked to death by bandits while worms burrowed through his body...

 _Enough_.

Brom knew that he had to stop thinking about this in terms of Skulvar. As Lydia had already pointed out, Skulvar didn't seem to be enough of a reason to join her group in the first place – even before the fight at the stables culminating in Brom's injured arm. And frustratingly, the more he thought of reasons to come with Lydia, the more he thought of his encounters with the Giant, with the group, with Egvir in the passageway, and Lydia in a room with two chairs -

 _Stop._

A flood of memories.

"Must have dressed by now," Brom muttered, expecting Lydia to be done changing. He shook his leather armor to get rid of the accumulated dust and debris, before pushing open the door and casually taking an apple slice hidden in his pocket. He tossed it into the air, angling his mouth so it landed in his throat – relishing the sweet taste and crisp texture as the first proper food found its way to his stomach in days.

Brom knocked on her door with his head, hearing a brief mumble then no response. He took a risk.

He gently began nudging the door open, stopping only when he saw a white calf muscle flail about in front of his vision on top of the bed as the Dragonscale armor lay unattended on a nearby chair.

"Oh my - " Brom began, turning his vision down. "I'm sorry! I thought you were - "

"I _am_ done changing Brom," Lydia rang out in response. "Do not be afraid – come in and shut the door behind you."

He did as commanded, and Brom was pleased and surprised to see a fully-clothed Lydia stand waiting for him. He kicked the door closed.

"Here," Lydia spoke, unsheathing a dagger before rapidly slicing through all the rope coils. "Finally feel better?"

That would not even come close to describing it. Brom swung his arms as far as he could, rotating in every way possible – eliciting a small chuckle from Lydia.

"I'll take that as a yes," she stated with a grin.

"I just want to say," Brom began, breathing heavily. "Thank you. For everything."

Lydia smiled – almost sorrowfully – then nodded. "It was the only right thing to do. I hope now you understand how important it is to listen to good advice."

Brom nodded, and if he had to frank with himself, everything Lydia had said in the past had turned out to be true. "I'm sorry. I should have heeded the advice of the Dragonborn."

Lydia frowned, shaking her head at him. Brom watched as she paced around the room, kicking the chair idly.

"Is that all you ever see me as?" she asked, genuine, morose concern flashing over her features. "Dragonborn? Dohvakiin? The _Chosen One_?"

Brom turned his face away, scratching at his now well-developed goatee. "It's not so much that – it's just – you live a different life than I live. And I - " he paused, waiting for Lydia's expression to turn sympathetic, but when he realized it wouldn't, soldiered on:

" - envy that."

Lydia's face appeared static, almost like a statue, for a moment. "Explain."

"In these two weeks traveling with you," Brom began, "I experienced more action than I have ever seen in my entire life."

Lydia smiled at him. "You haven't exactly lived that long Brom."

He shook his head. "Fair enough, but all the same. To be treated with respect and reverence wherever you go – to have people fall on your every word - "

"And you think I enjoy all this attention, hmm?" Lydia asked. "You think I desired glory from the start."

"I'm saying," Brom tried, phrasing his response more softly. "That you don't seem to mind it."

Lydia laughed quietly, peering at Brom from beneath her hair. "You clearly know nothing about me."

Brom seized this opportunity. "Then tell me... who were those people that we met before? The horseback riders with long black cloaks - "

Lydia tensed up, static expression returning. "They are none of your concern. Now leave. I did my part. Go hide in the cellar. Tell the innkeeper it's a command from me. Wait until sunrise, then exit and go about your life."

The orders were so specific, and so harshly delivered that Brom felt his throat seize up in emotion as it almost felt as if he had been slapped across the face. He wasn't even sure _why_. In his mind, she had just thrown him out without a proper goodbye, which Brom felt he deserved – or rather earned – after such a long journey.

"Boy," Lydia reminded him, looking at him in the face. "Leave. Now."

Brom caught her glare and nodded, turning to the door and waited for her back to turn before speaking once more.

"Back in Whiterun, I lied to you," Brom whispered. He could hear Lydia audibly turn around.

"About what?" she replied, trying to inject carelessness into her voice.

"I wasn't dropped off by an uncle at the orphanage," Brom told Lydia, still choosing not to face her as he kept a hand on the door. "My father threw me out of my Riften home once he realized I was trying to become a member of the Thieves Guild. He disowned me. Unable to survive in Riften by myself – I relocated to the closest Hold I could, which was Whiterun."

He felt Lydia's hand gently hold his shoulder. She spoke to him with a calm, soft tone. "And your mother?"

Brom shook his head, eyes now welling up – fluid threatening to choke up his speech. "She was with my father when it happened. She still is in Riften."

Lydia opened her mouth, but Brom cut her off. "So you can understand my confusion and exasperation upon spending time with you, Dohvakiin – when a two-bit peasant thief meets the savior of Skyrim."

He was trying his very best, but every so often a tear would escape his eyelid and fall down to the floor, and he cursed himself for being so stupid. He had tried to share a story of his in an effort to get her to share her's, but it had only resulted in his own recollection embarassing himself. Lydia's hand guided him to turn around.

He resisted at first, then gave in as the pressure became smoother. He looked directly into her eyes, and was unable to read her features as his eyes were repeatedly swelling up. He hoped she hadn't noticed this.

"Brom," she began, and the voice was so exquisitely soft that Brom almost thought he was talking to an entirely different person. "I am – sorry that happened to you. Trust me, I do not think of you as - "

Immediately the rational part of him kicked in. He brought a hand up to his face, wiping at his eyes fiercely as he realized how stupid he was showing himself to be.

Abruptly, he straightened his posture before cutting her speech short. "Thank you for everything, Dragonborn."

Brom moved away from Lydia, her hand briefly holding onto his shoulder for a while before letting go. He bowed quickly, and avoided looking at her face. He pushed the door open and shut it immediately behind him.

 _Idiot, idiot, idiot..._

Brom wiped some remaining tears from around his eyes away, making his way to the innkeeper half-sleeping on the deck.

 _Did you really just cry in front of the Dragonborn_?

It was at least worth it however. He had finally squashed a long-running feeling of jealousy mixed with fear, apprehension and longing in that short second with Lydia. And, like she had always said – it was now his life to control.

"Ohhh, yes..."

Brom's ears turned up, and he tried to locate the source of the noise. It was coming from the room Brit and Bok were sharing, and Brom moved closer to press his ear against the door.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

"Now let me show you what a real Orc can do!"

Brom instantly moved away from the door and headed to the deck to talk to the innkeeper – firstly about moving to the cellar, and secondly ask him to ready a few extra bed rolls.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _*No, the story is far, FAR from being over._

 _A major goal of mine is to paint Brom as a complex character, so if his motivations don't seem instantly recognizable, that's fine! I've tried to make it seem that way, and gradually unroll his story as the story progresses._

 _As always, R/R/FAV/FOL always appreciated and encouraged. But more importantly, thanks for your view and support!_

 _~TWa_

 _P.S: Part 1 of Grammatical Updates is now up. Have a few more chapters to fix grammatically, which will be out tomorrow._

 _P.P.S: Massive shout out to username ZombieGail! Your reviews are honestly a massive highlight in my day... glad you're enjoying the story. Thanks for pointing out the chapter confusion error... fixed it!_


	9. Red and Silver

**Red and Silver**

* * *

He had made the right choice. Of course he did.

 _There wasn't a choice to begin with._

Brom silenced his inner monologue. As he sat there, mind running wild in the midst of the dark, cold depths of the cellar – he felt vaguely relieved, almost as if an incredible burden was being lifted off his chest. He was completely alone, with only a brightly flickering candle held close by to keep him company.

To his pleasant surprise, the cellar was superbly maintained – despite being poorly insulated. Clean caskets of mead were stacked neatly on the sides of the cellar, while the floor remained clear of dust and was spotless – or as spotless as stone could be. Every once in a while Brom heard steps coming from above him and dove underneath the recesses of a particularly large mead barrel, but this always turned out to be a false alarm – usually Brit or Bok coming to ask the innkeeper for any spare rags.

 _Disgusting,_ Brom ruminated. _How much body fluids are they spilling?_

Brom shivered quietly in his corner, drumming his fingers across one of the mead crates. Lydia had told him to wait for sunrise, but in the cellar with no visual input coming from above, Brom found it impossible to keep track of time. He was fairly certain that he had not slept since arriving here, and judging from the amount of times Bok and Brit had come to the innkeeper, it had been at least two hours. And if he were to assume that every "session" lasted -

 _Oh by the – I'm actually counting a couple's -_

A sudden noise.

Brom remained silent for a moment. He felt no impulse to hide underneath the barrel this time, for the sound echoed quite distantly and seemed to be mixed with other frantic voices. Brom got on his feet and inched closer to the flight of stairs exiting the cellar, positioned at a steep incline.

Breathing noises, followed by heavy moaning.

Brom sighed in relief. _Idiots,_ he thought. He began to make his way back to the flickering candle.

A piercing scream, followed by the kicking of a door and the distinct swishing sound made when a sword cut through air.

This was not foreplay. Brom dove underneath the mead barrel once more, curling up defensively towards the back of the wall as footsteps grew in noise and more yelling ensued.

Brom gasped, realizing that the candle was still left idly burning in a corner. As he crawled forward on his knees, the footsteps became alarmingly close and creaking ensued as the cellar door was ripped open. He hastily went back to the wall.

Footsteps pounded on hard wood, the noise reverberating through the walls and reaching Brom for a doubly-effective scare. Brom squinted and kept his body still, holding a hand in front of his mouth to avoid breathing too heavily.

"Someone's been here," a deeply masculine, aggressive voice rang. "Look, a candle is sitting in that corner."

Brom could only see the feet of the cloaked figure, but he knew that he was pointing in Brom's direction. He gulped and forced his eyes shut and his head down – maybe they would mistake his hair for the darkness under the mead barrel.

"No one is here Brother," another male voice noted, Brom hearing a second pair of feet clatter across the floor. "There is no space to hide anywhere."

"Maybe," the aggressive voice agreed. "No space to hide for a fully-grown man – but a woman..."

Brom saw the full form of the figure now as he bent down to look underneath a mead barrel, sitting a few paces away from the one Brom was hiding beneath. The man had the same inisignia as the travelers' group he had met before. Brom felt his shoulders quiver a bit.

The man checked underneath another barrel.

"Nothing here..." the aggressive voice noted, large and broad feet gently treading across the floor.

He checked underneath the barrel directly adjacent to Brom.

Brom felt his heart start beating quickly and erratically. He shoved his arms – as much as he could – underneath his torso, keeping his hair pointed away from the wall and towards the direction of the man. Brom felt anxiety well up, realizing that at this point he was not even able to look at the man's feet anymore, eyes focusing on the pitch-black darkness of stone.

Breathing. It was soft and heavy, yet it clearly was emotionless. Brom felt is pass him, then his ears twitched as they picked up the sound of feet moving away from him.

Taking a risk, Brom opened his eyes and turned his head up so he could see the man's feet walking away from him. The two pairs of feet met together, and Brom could not hear their conversation.

He waited for a while, unsure of what was occurring.

 _He must have not seen me_ , Brom pondered, keeping his eyes fixed on the feet, which seemed relaxed and casually standing.

Abruptly, they began running towards the barrel he was hiding underneath, gripping the sides of it strongly.

"Come out and face your death woman!" the two voices cried.

Brom thought quickly. The barrel was heavy – clearly big enough to force his two attackers to use both hands, and he had mere seconds to sprint out of the cellar in the gap time between his attackers realizing he was escaping and then dropping the barrel to grab him. He prepared himself, legs coiling up beneath him.

"I swear by Talos Brother, this infernal crate - "

"Keep pushing Brother!"

Brom kept his heart rate in check. The barrel was now just high enough for them to see him clearly under the candlelight, and was also elevated enough for Brom to spring out of the darkness, making a beeline for the stairs leading away.

"There!"

"Stop her!"

Brom kept running, forcibly kicking the stairs support beams behind him, hearing collapsing wood as the two cloaked men roared in agony.

"It's not a woman, it's a boy!"

"Kill the boy!"

"Get him! Get him!"

Brom rammed into the cellar door with his injured shoulder, satisifed to note its full recovery and lack of pain.

He had only a second to note the surroundings, time slowing down as he panicked further.

The Inn was bustling with movement and people now – hundreds of cloaked figures stood at the walls of the Inn. Brit – helmet off and naked from the waist down, had her mouth and eyes completely open – and had a thick, glistening red pole shaved into a sharp tip shooting forth from her sternum. Chest bleeding profusely, her body was motionless and hanging awkwardly at the door leading to her and Bok's room. Bok's helmet was in still clutched in her hand, a trail of blood emerging from it and leading to the Inn's exit.

One of Brom's ribs forcibly crushed inward as a heavy metal fist found its way into his chest. He roared in pain, clutching at the clearly injured torso before the same hand held his hair and dragged Brom sharply upwards, Brom's scalp feeling as if it was on fire.

"We found the last one! Don't recognize him..."

Brom felt another hand push him forward as he took the time to observe more of his surroundings. The innkeeper was nowhere to be seen. The fire in the center was burning rather more fiercely than normal, and Brom suppressed a gasp as he saw two Breton heads – still connected to their bodies enclosed by flames – peek out lifelessly. Ulundil lay close to the heads, surrounded by a circle of blood that seemed to be entirely coming from him.

"Bad time to return from Whiterun, Wuth and Hahkun, and whatever this Altmer's name is," one of the cloaked figures near them spoke, stomping on both motionless necks with disdain. "A shame to see your lives come to such short ends."

Standing closer by, a small group of the cloaked figures in the center of the room chuckled and held swords to two still, but undeniably alive figures – Lydia, standing up and sporting normal clothes while scowling yet pleading to the masked figure behind her; and Sot, who was crumpled on the floor and shivering every few seconds. A red circle was spreading constantly around him.

"No!" Lydia's voice immediately rang out, noticing Brom. "He's not one of mine! He's innocent!"

Brom gulped as the hand shoved him further ahead, his body almost falling into the fire from the force of it.

"That may be true - " the man behind Brom announced, pulling his hair back and bringing Brom to his knees, forcibly placing his hands on his head. " - but he still serves my purpose."

Brom felt the cold sharpness of steel press against his neck, and his head was further wrenched upwards so he could not see anything but the ceiling.

"Tell us what we want to know!" the male voice rang out once more. "At least save two lives today!"

Lydia was shaking, eyes brimming with tears. "Please! I beg of you, I know nothing!"

"I shall give you three seconds, like usual," the voice boomed. "One."

Brom still could not see anything, feeling his heart pulse more irregularly than ever.

"Two."

The pressure on his neck intensified.

"Please! I'll do anything."

Warm liquid was now seeping from his neck, spilling across his clavicle.

"Last chance."

Brom, although he could not see anything still, heard Lydia go numb then heard a massive sound – explosion-like and frightening, and it had enough force to knock the pair of hands controlling his torso away from him, and Brom immediately got down to the floor as the energy blew outwards and nearly brought down the support beams holding the Inn up.

"Get up Brom, get up, get up!" Lydia's voice came again.

Brom felt his body once again be wrenched up, but this time by a small and gently firm pair of hands.

"We have to leave, now," Lydia breathed into his ear, keeping an eye on the masked warriors.

Brom nodded shakingly, seeing out of the corner of his eye that not all cloaked figures had fallen to the ground – in contrast, most of them seemed simply disoriented and confused for several moments. Sot was still lying on the floor, twitching but fighting to move as blood kept seeping from his mouth.

"What about him?" Brom told her, getting up and sprinting with her to the exit.

He saw Lydia's face tighten up and voice crackle into hoarseness before coming out. "We... we will... come back for him. We only have a second."

Brom shoved the door open, feeling the violent cold wind once again slap him across the face. Lydia stared at the stars in exasperation before clutching at her stomach.

"Hey," Brom yelled at her over the wind, seeing a clear hole overflowing with blood covering her midsection. "What happened?"

"No time," she breathed out, still holding her stomach. "Get to the mountains."

She pointed them out for him, tall crags laying just within Brom's sight. It would be at least ten minutes to get there – even on horseback.

"Boy!"

The voice was so distinctively gruff, so uncharacterstically weak and old, that Brom almost could not believe his eyes as he turned to see the source of the noise.

All the horses were dead. And – clutching at their fallen knapsacks in vain as he searched for supplies – was the old, whitened and now-scrawny form of Skulvar. His ribs were showing, his clothes had been pulled apart by sheer force – and he looked at Brom with the eyes of a madman.

"At last you're here," Skulvar moaned, moving to Brom and Lydia. "Please... have not eaten or drank in several days..."

The doors burst open. Some groups of masked warriors sprinted towards Lydia and Brom, while the other pounced on Skulvar. They immediately knocked him to the ground, stabbing away at his stomach as Skulvar screeched in agony!

"Brom! Dragonborn! Please save me!" he roared.

Lydia shook Brom – still staring – by the shoulders. "WE HAVE TO MOVE BROM!"

Brom heard her let out another feral shout – it knocked back the warriors in pursuit, but did not disorient them before as they raised their swords and spun them about, deflecting the energy.

Brom watched the group near Skulvar now surround him, still stabbing.

"Brom...Dohvakiin..." the Nord begged. "Please..."

"BROM! GO!"

"Brom... please..."

He could not stare anymore, as Lydia grabbed him by the back of his armor and shoved him back, urging him forward.

"RUN BROM!"

He began to run. Brom heard several noises in close pursuit, heart thudding as the whiz of an arrow passed by him.

Lydia's footsteps.

More violent shouts.

The cloaked figures moving silently through the chilly night air.

The group of figures around Skulvar, still stabbing.

The sound of steel clashing with flesh – then _just_ the sound of steel.

Brom didn't his name being called anymore.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Eventful? I dearly hope so :) A bit short? Yes. I have more material prepared, but this seemed to be a natural chapter division..._

 _Some more grammatical updates coming for earlier chapters, but recent ones should be free of these. And as always, I would appreciate any support and thank you for the view, reader! Forge onwards! (my new ending tag)_

 _~TWa_


	10. Laugh and Dagger

**Laugh and Dagger**

* * *

Skyrim had many natural topological features that made it especially beautiful to look at – from a bystander's perspective. This usually worked best when the bystander was a traveler from a foreign land, because then the effect would be intensified as he or she witnessed the sheer diversity of climates present; some regions almost tropical and moderate, with others fiercely cold. The humble traveler – in most cases – would respectfully express admiration for the landscape. Only long-standing residents of Skyrim knew how truly unforgiving the actual terrain was – and two of them were crouched inside a rather misshapen and small cave, a few steps away from falling off a large, crag-ridden mountain overlooking the little village of Rorikstead – buildings and houses rapidly flickering and burning even with the current violent wind and heavy rain, issuing flames tall enough to be seen from thousands of feet away, making the two individuals shudder with every minor explosion. They had thought it was nighttime at first due to the thick, impenetrable darkness of the clouds above – but must have realized at some point that it was, in fact – afternoon.

Brom, standing at the precipice of a jagged stone protruding from the edge of the mountain, watched as Rorikstead consumed itself in fire, the rain useless against the raging infernos.

"It's gone," a voice behind him whispered, idly drumming fingers against the dome-shaped stone ceiling. "And stop standing on the ledge; you'll fall to your death."

Brom turned around immediately, staring at Lydia for a moment before issuing a request. "We have to go back for him."

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him, standing up before calling Brom. "Come here."

Although he knew what she was going to say, Brom obeyed her request regardless and slinked over to her space, the sounds of fire and rain fading away.

"Do you really think - " Lydia began, mouth open in restrained anger. " - that he is still alive? After all that?"

Brom bit his lip, shaking his head in dogged refusal. "Perhaps. There is a - "

"Go to him then," Lydia cut across, turning away from Brom and holding her stomach as she began to cramp up. "Go and tell him how stupid you are – then die by his side."

Brom's throat choked up, and he breathed loudly to signal to Lydia that he was angered. She smirked cruelly before patting at her stomach in exasperation. "How poetic would _that_ be?"

"What about your other friends?" Brom rang out, frustrated that she was not looking at him. "Don't you care... at least about them?"

This seemed to touch a nerve. Lydia crushed the stone that she was leaning against, but Brom remained fearless. "Why would you care? That's how you've always lived life, isn't it?"

Her entire body was shaking, and Brom still felt no incentive to stop talking. "Going through life with everything just... _pushed_ your way. Lost some friends? Oh that's fine, I'll just replace them along the way."

Lydia had taken her hand off the wall, and was heaving her chest in slow, deliberate movements.

"I don't have that luxury," Brom spoke, moving his voice down to a whisper. "I can't simply repla - "

He stopped talking as he had heard her swing before she had even began it, but found himself too slow to react to her fist as it cut through the air and smashed into his torso, buckling him inwards and bringing him to his knees.

Brom coughed violently and wheezed, clutching at his bruised stomach and kept his head down. He heard Lydia speaking above him. "Do not - "

And she grabbed him by the hair once more, not even to turn his head her way but rather to simply inflict more pain on him. " - dare to question my loyalty to my - "

And she breathed to calm herself down, discarding Brom's hair as his head drooped down and he was left once again with a burning sensation on his scalp. He looked at her – but was dismayed to see that once again her back was turned to him, silent enough so that the idle patter of rainfall grew in the background.

"I'm sorry," Brom managed out. "I – was just – I mean I was – saddened to see Skulvar spend his last moments - "

"Being violently stabbed to death?" Lydia finished for him, turning back to flash him a glare. "Yes, what a horrible way to enter Sovngarde."

This caused a twinge in Brom's heart, but he ignored it and tried to backtrack from his earlier statements. "What about your companions? I didn't see Bok anywhere..."

"He - " Lydia started, gaze softening. " - he might have escape out of the back. I didn't see him anywhere. I remember two men coming into my room and holding swords to my neck, and then coming outside and seeing Brit, Wuth and Hahk - "

Lydia gulped, lowering her head as Brom saw her unbound hair flip over her and dangled in front of her face – masking her expression.

Brom nodded, even though he knew that she could not see it. "Yes. I saw them too."

Lydia straightened, rubbing moisture out of her eyes. "No matter. I have to end this – now."

To Brom's surprise, the line was not delivered a vengeful tone or even anger – rather, it seemed defeated and remorseful. He watched her as she wrapped a cloth more tightly around her wound, the blood staining her ragged, multi-colored clothing. She seemed to focus for a while, then brought both of her hands up into the air and golden light emerged from them – bathing her entire body and revolving around her wound. Brom forcefully kept his eyes from going wide – watching as the bloodstained and pierced flesh moved and connected again.

"I would have healed myself earlier," Lydia mentioned, rotating around to make sure the flesh was secure. "But I could not risk being hit again – especially when we climbed up this mountain."

"Then you shouted them off," Brom replied with a smile.

She grinned at him. "Yes, I did. But it was _you_ who found a cave and charted out a path for us that made _them_ lose track of their prey."

She exhaled in relief, pacing around the floor of the cave for several seconds before turning to face Brom. "So where are you going?"

Brom found this confusing. "What do you mean? Where should I go?"

"Anywhere but here," Lydia noted, then tensed as she saw Brom open his mouth. " - and with _anyone_ but me right now."

"Where am I supposed to go?" Brom asked again, frustration filling him. "You want me to go outside and die? There were _hundreds_ of them. Even _you_ nearly died. What chance do I have, all by myself?"

"They will forget about you, in time," Lydia responded. "I am their target. Anyone who is with me – as consequence, will die."

"So if they see me," Brom began, welling up with anxiety. "They're just going to let me go? Maybe feed me a pudding or take me to a whorehouse?"

"That is _if_ you are seen," Lydia reprimanded. "You're capable of hiding in a pit somewhere for a while. You can elude them."

"Of course I can, because I'm so adept at hiding," Brom replied mockingly. "Because I am a master of stealth."

Lydia shook her head in exasperation, moving to grab him by the shoulders. "Get away from here. Don't come back. Hide for at least a few days before making your way back to Whiterun – or Markarth – or wherever else you plan on going."

She removed the hands from him, staring at him in the eyes. "Farwell Bro - "

"No," he replied firmly. "This is _not_ farewell. You know as well as I that going outside without help is a straight-trip to Sovngarde. These people – whoever they are, because you never tell me – are not joking in whatever they plan on doing."

Lydia sighed, seeming dejected and dazed. "Have you heard of the Dark Brotherhood?"

Brom raised an eyebrow, frightened by the question. "Yes. While I was in Riften."

"Well they were our attackers - " Lydia informed him simply. " - and they have waged war against me."

Baffled, Brom let out a laugh. "Why?"

Lydia's face seemed pensive and conflicted, but then she simply shook her head once more and stared at the floor. "I don't know."

"Really?" Brom asked, again suspicious.

"Yes," she firmly told him again, raising her head. "And that's all we talk about this."

"Right," Brom lied, keeping his thoughts to himself. "And all of a sudden I'm obeying every word you say now?"

Lydia passed her fingers over the stony wall, moving closer to Brom as the rainfall intensified. She was literally a palm-length away from his face. "If you're staying with me - "

She paused, waiting for him to confirm it. Brom saw that her face looked desperately pleading, almost actively trying to discourage him from responding.

"Yes. I'll leave your company once I feel it's safe," Brom spoke to her disappointment.

"All right then," Lydia agreed, still staying close to him. "Then there are some rules I need you to understand."

Brom bopped his head up, almost chuckling before Lydia silenced him.

"Firstly," she started, tone serious and face hardened. "You _always_ do what I say."

Brom nodded, lowering his gaze. "Right."

"Secondly, you do nothing on _your own_ without me knowing about it – and allowing you to do it."

Brom repeated the head nod.

"Thirdly – anything you might see or hear that makes you uncomfortable, you tell me _immediately_."

Another nod.

"Fourthly - "

"Oh for Talos' sake," Brom burst out, getting annoyed. "By the time you finish your list of _holy_ commandments, the Brotherhood would have come here, slaughtered us, had a couple meads, and would be halfway to Riverwood!"

Lydia closed her mouth, struggling to appreciate the sarcasm yet reprimand the condescending tone.

"Well," she started. "You get the idea. And for our first task - "

Lydia paused, unsheathing a map from a pocket in her woolen pants. " - we head to Markarth."

"Why Markarth?" Brom inquired, moving over to her side to look at the map. "Because it's close?"

"Yes," Lydia confirmed. "Inside a major city, the Brotherhood will be less active and we can always flock to the aid of the local guards – in case something goes wrong. But more importantly – Sot, Bok, and Egvir might still be there."

Brom half-agreed. The last time he had seen Bok, a trail of blood was pointing towards the Frostfruit Inn's exit. It was entirely possible that he had escaped. And he had not even _seen_ Egvir inside the Inn since the night before when they had arrived at Frostfruit Inn.

But why did she say Sot? The last time Brom had seen Sot, his body was laying crumpled and bleeding on the stone floor – he was moving, but surely by now the assassins would have finished the job once they had realized he was still alive.

"I'm sorry Lydia, but Sot might as well be dead," he announced carelessly. "If he wasn't before, he definitely is now."

Lydia clenched her teeth. "I – I know he might seem that way – but I have some faith that - "

She paused her speech, keeping her head low and immediately turned to Brom again, storing the map inside the pocket once more. "No matter. We shall find out... once we... once we get there. Then we can proceed with our journey to Solitude – and you can leave to your own destination."

"And you will kill the Frost Dragon there?" Brom asked.

Lydia snapped back to reality. "Yes, the Frost Dragon. Yes, I will kill it there."

Brom narrowed his eyes. It almost seemed like she had _forgotten_ about the dragon in the first place. Additionally, her voice was shaky and seemed longing – especially when he had mentioned Sot's likely fate – but Brom instinctively knew not to pester her further.

However, in another portion of his mind he focused on her speech about Solitude – strangely, he wanted to travel there as well, and perhaps try his hand at making a living there.

 _That's not the reason why you want to go to Solitude_ , Brom's annoying inner monologue once again kicked in.

 _Shut it,_ Brom cursed his own mind.

 _Just admit it to her._

 _I hope you rot in Sovngarde._

Lydia looked at him, expression returning to its neutral expression. "Come on, let's move – they can't be that far behind."

"Yes," Brom agreed, following Lydia into a small crevice located at the back of the cave. "They're probably searching the mountain as we speak."

Brom followed Lydia into the crevice, removing the assortment of bandages from his body in the meantime to pass the awkward silence. He stuffed them into his pocket, hoping to reuse them – he wished he and Lydia would have temporarily fought back the attackers enough so that they could scavenge supplies from the dead horses – they had enough food to last the two of them weeks.

He saw Lydia disappear around a corner as the ceiling ended and he was once again back into the raining landscape of Skyrim, droplets of water collecting at his hair and clothes. It was a relatively narrow ledge to traverse across the side of the mountain, but it offered them the opportunity to see far ahead of them. To his disappointment however, Brom saw nothing but giant crags and spiking mountains imposingly standing in front of him – as far as he could possibly see. Lydia seemed equally discouraged by this.

"I had hoped Markarth would be closer," she interrupted Brom's thoughts, standing on the narrow ledge alongside Brom. "But all I can see are these blasted mountains."

"Have you been to Markarth before?" he asked.

She scratched at her cheek. "No. Have you?"

"No," he breathed back, keeping his footing from slipping. "And can we get off this ledge? The height is making me nauseous."

From what Brom could see, it was a clear thousand foot drop before another crag of the mountain broke his eyeline, and the ledge was so narrow that it could barely contain two of his feet if put one in front of the other.

"Follow me," Lydia answered, pointing to a small clearing that lead to a traversable dirt path downward. "That seems safe, doesn't it?"

"You're the expert here," Brom replied back.

Brom followed Lydia patiently as they both got to the clearing. She tilted her body back as she prepared to descend the path. He mimicked her, tilting his body back and found that it helped as he naturally went down the declined slope, holding onto the rocks jutting out to his side for support. As far as Brom could see, the path went down more for approximately a few hundred paces before becoming level again, but by then they could not see above the mountains and thus were traveling entirely blind.

"Are you sure this is the way to Markarth?" he whispered, careful to keep his voice down.

Lydia chuckled. "If my map is correct, then yes, I'm sure."

"That gives me confidence," Brom quipped, knowing that she would not turn back and glare at him - risking her position and balance.

"You're a highly sarcastic boy," Lydia fired back, although her tone seemed playful. "One of these days someone will put an end to your life because you couldn't hold back your tongue."

Brom kept walking, gripping a large rock as an anchor. "Many have tried to. All have failed."

"Probably because they felt pity towards you," she guessed. "Maybe they thought it was wrong to kill a fourteen-year old girl in cold blood."

Brom mock-laughed. "I am of sixteen years, and I am not a girl."

"Well with that hair," Lydia pointed out, turning back briefly to poke his head. "You might as well be."

"I think it makes me look elegant and refined," Brom stated, noticing the path gradually level off.

"It makes you _look_ like a milk-drinking _sissy_ ," Lydia hissed. "Who clearly cannot afford to cut their hair once in a while."

"Don't be jealous of me because _your_ hair isn't quite as - "

Brom stopped, feeling his footing slip a bit. He almost tumbled onto Lydia, but was saved as he grabbed another rock protrusion as the path was beginning to almost become level with the ground. Another few paces later, and Brom felt his feet and boy align perpendicular to the floor.

"Be careful," Lydia cautioned, relieved that the ground was level once more. "The rain is making this worse. Will not be good for my blades."

Brom realized that he had not noticed the three daggers hanging from Lydia's waist. It was bound on by a cheap leather band, similar to the one Skulvar had used to forge his bracers, and Brom found himself wishing that she had taken her armor along with her before forcibly leaving.

"Your dragonscales would have been handy to have right now," he announced.

Lydia agreed, sighing. "It's not exactly like I had a choice in the matter."

"Right, right," Brom agreed, attention still on the three steel blades. "Say, can I have one of those?"

Lydia appeared confused, turning back at him. "What, these things?"

She pointed the three blades out to him, and Brom nodded – then frowned, as she laughed right in his face. "What, so you can go poke a poor Nord's eye out?"

"For self-defense," Brom urged, ignoring her humor. "So if I meet up with any other - "

"If you do meet up with them," Lydia interjected. "You would be dead. Trust me, these will be more use to us when with me."

"They're very sharp," Brom noted, pressing his point further. "I'd think I could do some damage."

"Yes indeed," Lydia mock-agreed. "To yourself."

"Do you suddenly have three arms or something?"

"No."

"Then why do you need three? Give one to me."

"No."

"Please?"

"No, and remember the first rule I said?"

"Oh by Tal - "

Brom turned away in anger, thankful for the level ground so he could pace about and show her how upset he was.

"Did you suddenly become a warrior overnight?" Lydia cruelly asked. "If not, then don't ask to use my blades. Seriously speaking, you could injure yourself."

Brom sighed, turning to her again. "Then teach me."

Lydia scoffed at him, turning away and putting a hand above her brow so the rain could be stopped from entering her field of vision. "Teach you what? How to swing a dagger?"

Brom waited patiently, ignoring his hair as it fell over his ears and bothered him with its wetness. He stood staring at Lydia, who had turned back and was equally perplexed to see Brom so determinedly looking at her.

"Oh by the – fine!"

She moved to him, sweeping the hair out of her eyes and unsheathed one dagger to present it to him. "Hold it."

Brom blew air out of his lips sarcastically, grabbing it from Lydia's open palm before feeling the weight press his hand down. It was _much_ heavier than it had looked, sitting on Lydia's waist a few short seconds ago.

"You'll notice that it is quite decently heavy," Lydia announced, moving to Brom's back. "Skyforge Steel always is."

"It's not _that_ heavy," Brom lied, although he could almost _hear_ Lydia rolling her eyes at him. She moved close to his torso, and kept her hands on his waist and wrist holding the dagger.

"Number one, the dagger is a _stabbing_ weapon," Lydia spoke into his ear. "You don't want to find yourself swinging this thing at whoever comes your way. That's what swords are for."

Brom gave a smug but guilty look. "I knew that."

"Of course you did. Now when you stab someone, you generally don't want them to see it coming, so it's best to first lower your wrist..."

She pressed his arm down, and he moved along with her movement and then stopped as it was parallel to his body.

"...then roll the dagger behind your forearm."

Brom appeared confused, but did it anyway. "Why would I do that?"

"To mask it from someone who's checking you for weapons," Lydia promptly responded, taking a moment to flip her head back to keep out the rain. "A closed fist is much less suspicious than a dagger jutting out from your hand."

"Ah," Brom agreed, trying to make his fist look as non-threatening as possible. "Now what?"

"To properly unsheathe it," Lydia continued. "Bend your wrist behind you, so the blade naturally falls down and the hilt slips into your palm."

Brom found this direction somewhat confusing. "Erm, how?"

Lydia moved her hand on his arm to his wrist, gently bending it backwards but forcing his fingers to stay attached to the hilt – before it naturally slipped into his hand.

"Now when you have the blade pointing down to the ground," Lydia motioned for Brom to do it, then continued. "Rotate your hips and arm _smoothly_ \- " She clutched his waist, pushing him forward while turning his waist inwards, " - and extend."

Brom shot out his arm in a line perfectly parallel to the horizon, and squealed in exhiliration. "I did it! I'm a Nordic warrior!"

"Yes, well done, oh mighty Ysgramor," Lydia joked with a smirk. "But you're lucky that I'm here to guide your movements. It's a heavy dagger, and it takes some getting used to."

Brom chortled, twirling the dagger in his palm and fingers while he looked out at the horizon – still eclipsed by mountains. He made his voice as deep as possible before dramatically standing with an arm pointed out. "Nonsense. Follow me companion! Let us forge the way to Markarth!"

Lydia sighed behind him. "Giving you it was clearly a bad idea."

"Nonsense," Brom discounted, keeping his fakely low voice. He watched Lydia pass him with an eyeroll and then stop, waiting for him to follow. "You have merely empowered the mighty Brom Ven, slayer of Dragons and savior of women and children!

Lydia shoved her palm against her forehead. "Would you stop fooling around and start following me?"

"Yes I will companion," Brom reiterated, still keeping the fake voice. "But only because I want to."

He walked in front of her, beginning another path of descent down the mountain. He had barely walked four steps before he heard his name.

"Sir Ven?"

Brom shook his head, confused by the sudden use of a formal term. He turned back to see Lydia, expression brimming with what appeared to be genuine excitement.

"I have an exciting new move to teach you with the dagger!" she announced.

Brom opened his eyes in eagerness. "What?"

"It is called - " Lydia stopped, forming her hands into the shape of a dagger.

" - the hair cut."

Cheeks reddening, Brom immediately turned back and swept the hair and rainfall out of his eyes, trying to block out the increasing noise of Lydia's racuous laughter.

"Sir Ven! Why have your cheeks become rosy and blushing Sir Ven?"

Brom wondered whether a fall would instantaneously kill him.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Enjoyed writing this one immensely..._

 _I try to mess around with the Skyrim map to exaggerate or undermine certain distances to make the story more believable, so hopefully that's not confusing if anyone's fact checking me against an actual map._

 _More to come, and as always I would appreciate any support and thank you for the view! Forge onward!_

 _~TWa_


	11. Predator and Prey (I)

**Predator and Prey (I)**

* * *

The trek downward had proved to be much easier than the first trail Brom and Lydia had taken down the enormous mountain – but only because the slope was far more gradual. This of course, meant that they had to travel much more distance to get down to the grasslands than they had expected. The sun, which previously had at least scattered some light in their direction through the clouds, was now gone and darkness surrounded the area. Fortunately, the rain had finally lightened up, small droplets drizzling downward every minute or so.

Far more worrisome however, Brom found it difficult to keep track of time. While earlier during the day, the sun was bright enough to let _some_ illumination through the clouds – while during the current night time the vapor had entirely trapped and almost reflected the moonlight back into the sky – as a consequence, Lydia had momentarily stopped as soon as they had reached the grass bed, unsure of where the moon was positioned in the sky as the clouds masked its location.

"We're definitely well into the night," she observed, covertly squeezing then expanding her fist to generate a small ball of flames in her palm. "Take the map from my pocket."

Brom, who had also just made the final hop off the mountain path and onto the grasslands, squared his eyes in confusion. "Why don't you grab it? You have two hands."

Lydia sighed. "With a fire spell going off in one of them? I don't want to risk burning the only thing that can guide us right now."

Brom nodded, then moved to her hazy form as the fire highlighted her outline. He rummaged around in her side pant pocket for a second, fingers stumbling upon a tightly furled scroll.

"Here," Brom announced silently, removing the map and unrolling it. "Move your hand closer."

Lydia seemed to object to this, but moved her hand closer. "Can you see anything that can tell you where we are now?"

Brom narrowed his eyes, struggling to focus on the section that Lydia was holding her hand close to. "Uh, I see a circling river somwhere past the mountain we just cut through."

Brom was certain that the circular blue line was a river, and it ran around a small land mass that he had not recognized.

"There's some island in the middle of it too," Brom continued. "Your map calls it – _Karthspire Camp._ "

Brom could see Lydia's illuminated face flood with concern. "What's wrong?"

Lydia bit her lip, then shook her head at him. "It _sounds_ like a bandit hideout."

"Yeah I would agree," Brom noted, putting the map back in her pocket. "What now?"

Lydia blinked, still keeping the fire in her palm. Brom watched her oscillate around, back turned to the mountain while looking out at the dark grassland in front of them. Brom could barely see four paces around him, even with Lydia's compensatory fire.

"You said there's a river that's on the way to Markarth, correct?" Lydia asked Brom, breaking the silence. "Did it look close to where we are now?"

"I suppose so," Brom guessed. "I can't tell with just the map."

"Well, going through the mountain will go back to Rorikstead," Lydia observed. "So, if we go ahead, we may hit the river. Follow me."

Brom started moving as she told him to, but kept the silence from returning. "What's the point of getting to the river?"

"It means we're going in the right direction," Lydia informed him, back still turned and fire raised higher. "And usually, farms like to sit close to the river. I'm sure we can get help there."

 _Sounds feasible_ , Brom thought. _If we can find it._

He was not able to see the river, as the environment was so crushingly dark, and there were no audible noises that could be connected to water flowing. Even Lydia's fire spell had only lit up the area for a small radius – and he suspected that she was deliberately avoiding making the spell larger to avoid detection.

"Does that make you tired?" Brom whispered, staying close to the flame. "Holding it up I mean?"

Lydia smiled at him. "Eventually. I'm fine so far."

Brom widened his eyes, moving past the flames and began searching the ground.

"What are you doing?" Lydia asked, crouching down slightly to see Brom.

"Finding sticks," Brom announced. "We can make some torches."

Brom heard Lydia chuckle behind him, pulling him up.

"Fire doesn't quite work like - "

She paused. Lydia moved her hand down and extinguished the flame. Brom felt her pull him closer, then bring him down to the ground in a crouched position. She turned to him, ears twitching in concern.

"Stay low, and stay close to me," Lydia urged. "Keep your voice down."

Brom could not see why she was so suddenly alert. Now that she had ended her fire spell, he could barely see her. And despite the darkness of nighttime, he had not seen anything troubling around him, and he had not heard any sounds that reminded him of the Brotherhood. Conversely, the environment seemed to be even more silent now that Lydia was moving so suspiciously through the short grass.

"What did you hear?" Brom whispered, voice almost low enough to go unheard.

"Shh," Lydia let out. "Stay quiet."

Brom tensed himself. The air was chilling and the rain was beginning to increase. He was not sure how far they were from the mountain, in case they needed to retreat. The river offered another alternative to surviving – as he had guessed that Lydia had a waterbreathing shout that she could use on them both.

" _Lydia_ ," Brom emphasized, pinching her arm. "What's happening?"

"I heard something," Lydia started vaguely, staying crouched.

"You're starting to scare me," Brom urged her, tapping her on the shoulder. "Should we be worried?"

Lydia's breaths were coming out in ragged whispers now. Her ears were twitching and her gaze was very disturbing - even to Brom.

"Something is definitely here," Lydia managed out, gripping Brom's forearm so painfully that he winced. "I can hear it."

Brom focused his hearing as hard as he could. The only thing he could discern was the clearly audible rumbling in the grass, night air sweeping through the plants and rubbing leaf against leaf.

"Maybe the Brotherhood is in the area right now," Brom guessed, heart beginning to beat forcefully against his lungs.

"No," Lydia immediately shot down. "This is something else. The Brotherhood are too stealthy to try and kill us like this."

Brom gulped, completely provoked by her words, but let Lydia continue.

"Listen closely," she breathed. "The grass starts making noises, then stops."

Brom detected this immediately once pointed out. There were two separate noises that he had mistakenly fused into one. The most audible one was the grass idly swaying with the breeze, irrespective of where Lydia and Brom were. The _other_ one was also grass-based, but much heavier, and clearly had a pattern; as long as they were walking, it would continue chiming, then would stop as soon as Lydia and Brom stopped.

"What if it's a cave bear?" Brom asked, heart pulsing as the pattern of grass noises continued. "What if it's hunting us?"

Lydia shook her head. "Oh, I wish. There are no bear tracks close by, and bears do not hide and hunt with such closeness, even during the night..."

Whatever the presence was, it had the advantage of being cloaked in darkness, while Lydia and Brom's clothes acted as a weak reflector of light in a sea of black grassland. If something was targeting them, they would be easy kills.

"Lydia?" Brom shakily spoke out into the darkness, realizing that the grip on his forearm was gone. "Lydia? I can't see you…"

A quick whisper followed from within the darkness, to his left side. "Follow my voice. Do NOT move closer to me, unless I tell you to."

Brom squeezed his eyes shut, letting his building heart rate slow down slightly before opening them again. He was terrified by just the idea of a bear hunting them, and after Lydia had worsened his fear with some other conjecture, he had no choice but to rely on instinct alone.

The pattern was more constant now, and the grass noise began to sound off even when Brom was completely still.

"Follow my voice."

Brom obeyed, but hastily pulled out his dagger from a band around his waist. He slowed his breathing, concentrating on hiding the dagger behind his forearm in the exact same way Lydia had showed him to, but this seemed pointless in the poor visibility of night time.

"Get down completely to the grass, Brom."

Brom blinked, but immediately laid down with both arms extended fully across with the dagger still clutched in his hand. It was shaking unnervingly, and the grass noises now seemed to grow stronger and continue regardless of whether he was moving or not.

"Lydia," Brom started, voice hoarse and desperate. "Please…"

A sudden whizzing noise, then the grass sounds seemed to intensify infinitely for several seconds before fading away completely.

"Lydia?"

No response.

"Lydia?"

Still no voice.

"LYDIA!"

The voice was not guiding him anymore, and he could not even see her vague outline gliding somewhere around him. Brom could not even hear Lydia's movement, and he had hoped for something – perhaps the clashing of steel, or maybe Lydia roaring in pain, even the Brotherhood's voice – but the silence was pure agony.

The grass noise returned.

Or rather, the noise was being replaced by a very depressing, crushing force. While initially the pattern had consisted of small repeated intervals of grass rubbing against each other, now it felt as if a very heavy force was actively flattening the grass around him - and he could not locate the direction of where. Sometimes the crushing noise would come from behind him, then in front of him, then to the sides… almost as if it was circling his body.

Brom felt the dagger slip out of his hand in fear as the crushing noise came within inches of his index finger. Its movement was erratic but focused, and it was spiraling perpetually inward towards Brom. He heard a dragging noise as the sound of steel swiping through grass blades cut through the air.

"No, no, no - " Brom raggedly gasped, blindly fumbling around with his fingers in the grass where his dagger had likely landed. "Please, no…"

No matter how hard he dug his fingers into anywhere on the grass, he could not find the dagger - despite having dropped it literally seconds ago.

"Lydia," Brom whispered, confident that she would not hear him. "It has my dagger, oh by Talos it has the dagger…"

Brom felt his ears be buffeted by a burst of wind - yet he knew the breeze was too light for such an event. Instead, he suddenly felt an enormous warmth enclose his body, and felt two furry paws press down on his hands, restricting his movement. The bursts of wind continued to bludgeon his ears.

It was _breathing_ on him.

It had to be breaths from some creature. The wind was the creature exhaling rhythmically, and the fur from its hands were actively rubbing against Brom's fingers. It felt dense and thickly-muscled, layers of fur laid across bones large enough to crush Brom just by sheer weight - and it was moving against him, sweeping against his back and neck before sniffing at his hair.

Brom did not dare move his head, feeling his hair quiver as the nostrils blew warm tornadoes of air across his scalp.

And it growled.

The beast's growl could not be confused with a cave bear, by any stretch of imagination. The noise emitted was deeply guttural and immensely low - and infused with raw aggression. It was an absurdly dark, heavy sound that shivered as it passed through Brom - vibrating all the empty spaces between bones. Brom felt that if the creature wanted to, it could roar and break apart his entire skeleton - as the sheer volume of the growling was actively hurting him.

Massive, clawed fingers tugged at his back, flipping him over effortlessly and leaving five large tears in his armor. Brom went with the staggering force without hesitation, shock preventing him from closing his eyes.

The face that he saw truthfully could not be described as a face at all. The head was shaped in an extremely rectangular fashion with jutting bones protruding out of each corner. The top half - where there would be eyes - instead had two black spikes embedded in each eye socket, red liquid coating the surface. The lower half of the face was warped - a perpetually open mouth that Brom almost mistook for an injury or a gash - teeth that were blunt and randomly shaped, non-existent lips, and a deep hole across the upper and lower jawbones, filled by a shining glint of steel, hilt still protruding from outside the creature's mouth. The beast lacked a nose, but made this up in the form of two perfectly circular holes sitting just above its mouth.

"I need - " the beast uttered, voice gruff and almost incomprehensible. " - I need - I need - please…"

Brom was relieved to realize that his hands were free, no longer pinned down the creature's heavy arms. He did not dare look away from his face - and honed in on his dagger, still stuck in the creature's mouth. Brom subtly began moving a leg from underneath the beast.

"I - I - " the beast continued. " - could not save them all. Save yourself…"

It moved both its arms to Brom's shoulders, squeezing tightly as its claws tore through his flesh, leaving warm trails of liquid seeping across Brom's leather torso. Brom suppressed his scream by biting his lips hard, still trying to move a free leg in front of the beast's mouth.

"I - I - will save you," the beast groaned again, moving its mouth to Brom's exposed neck. "I am saving you…"

Brom saw the creature's mouth as it moved closer, widening and expanding to reveal more crooked teeth that seemed pulverized and misshapen. He pressed his head hard into the grass, finally managing to bring his leg underneath the creature's mouth.

And he kicked.

The launched foot was aimed straight into the beast's mouth, and made contact with the dagger still embedded inside. The force of it pushed the dagger further into the the creature's throat, shredding more flesh and making it howl in suffering as it removed its claws from Brom and stood up, shaking its head in vain attempts to ease the pain.

Brom received a full view of its body. It was strangely wolf-like in appearance, but had the shape of a giant humanoid rather than a wolf. His first thought told him it was a werewolf, yet its face bore no resemblance to that of a werewolf. Even its body seemed atypical among werewolves - ribs were showing, the skin was pale and almost seemed - _pasted on_ in some sections… the biggest eyesore of all however, was the stomach region - or what remained of it.

He could _see_ the intestines. He could _see_ the digestive tract and the stomach muscles. Smooth muscle tissue, unbroken yet completely exposed, squeezed and pulled involuntarily as the beast rocked on its feet.

Brom kept tracking it, watching it stumble around as he shot upright, legs prepared to run faster than he had ever done so before.

The beast abruptly stopped shaking, focusing on Brom's upright form and screeching wildly. It bent its legs, appearing to get into a jumping position before two blades forced their way through its ribs – they glowed brightly and moved across to tear apart the creature into two clean halves.

Brom coughed, dust settling into his throat as a vaguely familiar outline pushed the two halves aside and made its way quickly to Brom, flicking him on the forehead.

"I told you to stay down on the ground," Lydia began with an irritated tone. "The taller their prey is, the more agitated they become."

"Well I was under the impression that I was going to die," Brom spat. "So I did what I had to do."

Lydia laughed mirthfully. "The only way you'll die idiot, is if you do something I tell you NOT to do."

Brom noticed immediately that the Lydia that had returned just now was not the same Lydia that had abandoned him minutes ago. Her clothes were ripped in several places with exposed skin showing, and several deep fissures ran across her back and stomach, bleeding and crusted by what Brom guessed to be Lydia's attempted healing spell. Her face was unmarked, but her voice came out in weak whispers rather than full commands.

"What happened to you?" Brom demanded at once, keeping his eyes still on the ripped apart beast in paranoia. "Did any of them do this to you? The… werewolves?"

He made sure to convey doubt in his last word, and Lydia picked up on this.

"Yes," Lydia confirmed. "But these are no ordinary werewolves - they seemed altered in some way, either with great magic or some crude dismemberment - "

Lydia turned to the downed werewolf, ripping the dagger out of its mouth and cleaned off the remnant flesh as best as she could. Brom noticed that on the way back, she was limping: there was no visible damage that he could see under such dark conditions, but the leg seemed oddly twisted and nearly bent in half at the knee socket.

"Here," Lydia urged, giving the dagger to Brom. "And good job."

Brom raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Good job?"

Lydia bowed her head. "I didn't expect one of them to attack you and yet you showed great – "

"Wait," Brom began, cutting her off. " _One_ of _them_?"

Lydia tried to force a smile, but it ended up looking like a sneer instead. "You didn't think that we were being hunted by _one_ werewolf now, did you?"

Brom gasped, holding his hands to his head before feeling his heart rate rise again.

"Relax," Lydia smoothly objected, snapping her fingers in front of Brom. "Calm down and focus. We need our wits about us if we're going to survive."

"I – I - " Brom broke out, shaking his head in disbelief. "We're being hunted by werewolves in the middle of the night, oh by the – we're going to die here..."

"No we are not," Lydia firmly refused, moving closer to Brom despite her injuries. "And be brave and calm right now. We have to - "

"This stuff," Brom interrupted, feeling his heartbeat pulse erratically enough to make him feel nauseous. "Is not something I _do_. I am not used to _any_ of this."

"I understand - "

"NO YOU COULDN'T!"

Lydia reflexively put her hand on Brom's mouth, staring at him in the eyes. "Be quiet for Talos' sake - "

Brom's heart was racing, and a cold sweat had broken out as flashing images of werewolves – all from his imagination and only some from his experience – attacked him simultaneously.

" - Please."

Brom avoided looking at her eyes, certain that he would lose his anger if he did so. He shoved her hand off his mouth, nodding at her to make her continue her explanation.

"I used a shout to speed away from you, after I told you to stay down to the ground," Lydia informed him. "I led them off in another direction."

"And how many did you manage to kill?" Brom asked at once with eagerness.

"Four or five," Lydia stated without pride. "I don't know how many more are there. Most left as they saw several of their own be killed."

Lydia paused, the blood loss apparently affecting her. "These injuries are near impossible to heal - my spells only made the situation worse. And my daggers' magical effects are weakening."

"Your injuries probably also have magic attached to them," Brom noted, hearing several grass sounds return - at a distance however - behind him. "Lydia?"

"Brom?"

"They're coming back - I can hear them."

Lydia breathed several times fast, then spoke to Brom. "We keep moving. Stay cl - "

"Close to you, I know."

Lydia swiveled around, turning her body away from the noises.

"No matter what Brom," she started. "You see anything wrong, you listen to me first. If I tell you to run or stay or do whatever, you _must_ listen, for your own sake."

"I - " Brom stuttered.

"Brom! Remember what I said?"

" - Right. Okay."

"Follow me."

"Lydia?"

"What?"

"Thank you."

A pause, as despite Brom's efforts, she refused to make eye contact with him.

"Hush now. Let's go."

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Suspense actually is a big element of the story, and I'm glad to start using it now that most of the expositional info is out of the way… and yes, it will get better._

 _Some writing style tweaks also inbound - mostly small fixes that make reading more engrossing and unnecessary details being excluded. Most of the style and structure will stay the same though, so no worries…_

 _I'd appreciate any support that you can give, and thank you for the view! Forge on!_

 _~TWa_


	12. Predator and Prey (II)

**Predator and Prey (II)**

* * *

"Brom!"

"What?"

"Stop moving, and look down."

Brom did as he was instructed. To his surprise, he noticed a dimly glowing, blue pool of water just steps from his feet.

"The river," Brom breathed in excitement. "We're here!"

He knew he would not have seen it earlier. They had been moving for hours now, and the cloud cover above them was beginning to move away and let in powerful bursts of sunlight as dawn started to cast its presence across the vast stretch of brown terrain. Now Brom could see the grassland completely around him, and was satisfied to note the disappearance of the mountain they had came from – and the werewolves. Earlier during the night after the first attack, most of them seemed to pursue Lydia and Brom for a few more hours until dawn started to approach, and the grass-based noises behind and around them disappeared quickly. More fortunately however, now that sunlight was present, it made it much easier to detect the werewolves minutes before they began their hunting. The river of course was another great positive, and it seemed to extend more thousands of feet in front of him – circling gradually around a huge land mass that he could only barely see.

"Brom?"

He noted a peculiar concern in her voice, turning to see her staring slack-jawed at him. "What?"

"Your shoulders."

Brom glanced at both of his shoulders. The gashes the werewolf had given him had similarly crusted just like Lydia's injuries, and he was dismayed to see that the wounds appeared to not heal properly. They were not particularly deep, so he had gone without a cloth bandage all throughout the night – but more worrying were the profound tears at the back of his armor, exposing enough skin to ranged attacks.

"It's nothing," Brom defused, shaking his arms for her to see that he was still functioning. "It's not really all that deep."

"They're from a werewolf," Lydia reminded him. "It's not wise to leave that unattended."

"Well," Brom began annoyed. "Can you do anything about it?"

He hinted at her own scars, and Lydia seemed to subconciously try to shove excess cloth over her torso to prevent him from seeing them.

"No," she admitted, defeat falling over her. "I suppose I can't do anything for myself either."

"I'm more worried about both of our armor – and in your case, clothes – being ripped. A well-placed arrow could - "

"Yes," Lydia agreed, twitching her leg. "I really need some armor."

She kept twitching her leg, and Brom was slightly disgusted to see it in the same twisted position that he had seen earlier during the night.

"Come here," Lydia beckoned to him, tracking him as he made his way over to her. "Punch my knee."

"Absolutely not," Brom refused, still afraid to even touch the twisted joint.

"Brom," she sighed once more, turning to the leg. "I can't crouch and move properly with this stupid knee."

"Do it yourself."

"I would, but it causes me great pain even when I try to touch it."

Brom laughed. "Then how would punching it make it better?"

"The joint's been twisted out of the socket," Lydia explained. "Either I fix this now or risk running around with a useless leg."

Brom shut his eyes, shaking his head, but positioned himself so Lydia's knee was within his arm's reach. "You know this will hurt, right?"

"I've fought off werewolves," Lydia replied with a half-raised eyebrow. "This can't possibly – EAUGH!"

Brom had not punched like she had intended him too, but rather delivered an open palmed push that he had used just enough pressure that he guessed was enough to force the joint back into the socket. Lydia continued to scream.

"AUGH!"

"Not bad," Brom replied, watching the knee as it stabilized itself as Lydia put weight onto it. "You should be thanking me."

Lydia chuckled, still wincing every few seconds or so as the knee joint settled better into the socket.

"Shut up," Lydia demanded, taking her map out once more. "So we hit the river. Where's Karthspire camp?"

"Why would we go there first?" Brom countered, but pointed out the hazy outline of a structure far away to her. "What about the farm?"

"That was my guess," Lydia elaborated. "It's not definite. And this camp would be a good place to hide out for sometime and look for supplies."

"Like food," Brom immediately rang out. "I could do for some rabbit haunches right about now."

"See any deer?"

"Not yet," Brom sadly noted. He had not seen a deer for weeks, the last one all the way back at the Greensprings when most of Lydia's crew were still with them. "How are we supposed to hunt a deer without any bows or - "

Lydia raised both eyebrows cockily at him.

"Right," Brom spoke out. "You're the Dragonborn."

"I was just going to say magic or a shout," Lydia corrected. "But that's one – dramatic way of putting it."

Brom chuckled, then followed Lydia as she walked in front of him, keeping her eyes on both the flowing river and the camp in the distance.

He wondered if she was frustrated with the situation. He was clearly not a useful or even usable warrior to her, and somehow he mused whether she would fare better if she did not have to look after Brom's safety – it was her obligation of course as the Dragonborn, but that did not do well to mask her disappointment over the predicament she was in. Anyone else – excluding Ulundil – of her crew would have been a great boon to her, and to add to Brom's sense of guilt, Lydia might have avoided some of the injuries that she had received from the werewolves. She needed someone fierce, powerful, and experienced with combat – someone like Wuth or Sot – not a teenaged boy armed with a dagger too heavy for him.

"So when we get to Markarth eventually," Brom optimistically began, knowing that the question he was going to ask would be as smart as playing with fire. "How many of your crew do you think we'll find there?"

Lydia stayed quiet, keeping her walk strict and in one straight line and seemed to be ignoring Brom's question, although he _knew_ for a fact that she had heard it – the characteristic twitch backward with her ears had proved this.

"Lydia?"

"I don't know," she disclaimed, voice neutral as she continued her pace. "The only possibilities are Egvir and Bok... along with..."

Her voice trailed off, lost in a sea of whispers and choked gulping.

"Sot?" he tentatively asserted.

"Yes," she finished, grateful that he had completed it for her. "Sot."

Brom realized in that moment how much reassurance she had given him, while he had practically ignored the loss of her crew and her own mental state along the way.

"I'm sorry about everything that happened," Brom ranted, voice tense and quick to make the message as painless as possible. "I can't imagine losing any number of people I know like that."

Lydia gave no indication that she had acknowledged this, but the ear twitch continued as she walked in front of him.

"Actually you do," she disclosed. "Remember?"

"I do," Brom conceded. "But Skulvar was never anyone that I cared for – at least in the way that you seemed to with your group. You all seemed very – connected."

Lydia said nothing in response, and Brom concluded he was doing much more damage than good.

"I'm just trying to say how horrible everything was," Brom stupidly worded. "That's it. I won't talk about it anymore after this."

"Brom - "

She finally turned back to him, eyes downcast but mouth gently curved into a sympathetic smile. "I understand what you're trying to do."

She looked at him, eyes pleasant and guarded but still kind. "I – appreciate it."

Brom nodded. "No problem."

She resumed walking, her body settling back into its defeated posture, disappointing Brom. He let it go however, trying to return to a different topic.

"Does the Brotherhood have werewolves as allies?" Brom expressed, hopping over a stone while idly swinging his dagger in front of him.

Lydia did not say anything at first, choosing to consider his question before affirming: "Possibly. But they wouldn't deface and modify them like the werewolves we fought before. The Brotherhood is cruel and efficient – not twisted."

"Who else is going after us then?"

She sighed, shaking her head at him. "How would I know?"

Brom deduced that this response was genuine – completely unlike the one she had given when questioned about the Brotherhood's motivations for hunting them.

The hazy outline of the building in the distance had begun to become more clear. Brom observed that it very much resembled an entire small village rather than just a campsite. Tall spires of logs were pushed into the ground, circling the entire fortress and preventing observers from peering inside. Brom noted with relief that there did not appear to be any people occupying the camp – although he was still too far to tell, and the island was completely surrounded by the river.

"Woah," Brom exclaimed, staring at the camp in the distance with excitement. "It looks like Riverwood or Helgen more than a camp."

"That just means whoever's inside has pillaged and looted quite a lot from places around them," Lydia dismally concluded. "How close is Markarth from the river?"

"You have the map," Brom spouted, pausing as they both arrived at the edge of the water.

There was a quite obvious choice now, to either swim to the island and explore Karthspire, or trust Lydia's instincts and head to their left – following the river to hopefully stumble on a farm.

"Let's find the farm," Brom insisted, turning to see Lydia staring intently at the island. "Oh please no."

"What?" Lydia argued defensively. "It's guaranteed that we can find shelter and supplies in the camp. It's uncertain that we find a farm nearby."

"Wasn't looking for the farm _your_ idea?" Brom chided, trying to see any sign of life outside Karthspire.

"It _was_ ," Lydia emphasized. "But as I said before, I just was guessing about the farm. It may or may _not_ be there."

"I'll take those chances over dying in a foreign campsite," Brom challenged. "We don't even know what – or who may be in Karthspire. What if there's more of those werewolf things?"

Lydia pursed her lips, tenderly putting her hands on Brom's shoulders. "Then we shall die _glorious_ deaths, Sir Ven."

Brom rolled his eyes, and before he could argue the matter further, Lydia had dove into the river – her form bobbing up and down as she rhythmically breathed above the surface of the water and swam as she submerged herself beaneath it.

He followed her. As soon as he had dove in, he noticed a stabbing pain attack him as the saltwater plunged into the still somewhat open wounds on his shoulders. He quickly rose to the surface and shook the hair and water out of his eyes, repeating the process several times more.

The swim there had only taken minutes, and Brom soon found himself panting and out of breath at the small beach region leading to Karthspire, the dawn light just casting enough of itself to give the plunged oak pillars an enormously ominous effect.

"Haven't... swam... " Brom gasped between breaths. "...that long, in a while."

"Yes I can see that," Lydia disclosed beside him, daggers out and in a crouched position. "Stay here. I'll go check it out."

"What?" Brom objected at once, shaking the water off again. "I have a dagger. I can help."

"You barely know one move," Lydia denounced. "And don't worry – if I need your help, I'll release a fire spell into the air. Then you can come and sneakily attack anyone I'm up against."

"You're just saying that to shut me up," Brom deduced quickly.

"Yes I am," Lydia agreed. "Stay. Here."

There was no use arguing. Brom watched Lydia leave, pouncing rapidly off surrounding boulders and rocks before making her way up the inclined slope of grassland and disappearing from Brom's vision as she made it past the small hill and into the entrance.

Brom listened hard for any sign of movement. The only sounds he could detect were the rumbling of her careful footsteps as they continued into the camp. The entire island seemed vast and displayed a variety of elevations – Brom was fairly sure that at some point he would not be able to hear her footsteps anymore. He could hear the crackling of several fires, and what sounded like a fully-functioning forge burned away inside. The faintest sounds of skeevers running about were audible, but they ceased immediately as soon as the sound of steel cutting through air and flesh rang through the air. Several moments passed, and the footsteps had stopped.

"Come in Brom!"

He identified it as her voice, and stood up fully to tread the same path she had done beforehand and leaped over the sharp, wooden barricades blocking the entrance to Karthspire and squeezed into an opening found between the oak logs struck into the ground and walling off Karthspire.

As soon as he stepped inside, he knew why Lydia had made such a quick judgement to call him inside – the camp was practically empty. The sounds he heard had truly been the only things still present in the camp; several improvised fires were burning in different sections of the camp, and a full forge was to Brom's right at the entrance to the camp. A good portion of the river had continued to run underneath the various region of Karthspire – the camp segregated into floating chunks of wood held up by wooden pedestals to house tents and chests. A rather large cavern was located at the highest elevated plank, leading to misty darkness.

Lydia stood at the center "plank" just in front of Brom, two skeevers bleeding and dead by her feet.

"Hate those things," Lydia stated with disgust, hopping onto the entrance "plank" Brom was on. "I suppose this place doesn't seem that safe after all."

Brom squinted in confusion. "What do you mean? There's no one here."

"Exactly the problem," Lydia whispered. "I was expecting a fight."

"Looks like you already had one," Brom pointed out, smirking at the dead skeevers on the central plank.

Lydia rubbed her eyes and smiled, tilting her head to the side and looked at Brom with a far-away gaze, almost lost in thought.

"Lydia?"

"What?" she returned to the present. "Oh. Sorry. Was thinking of something else."

Brom chose not to ask what this was, instead proposing his own idea. "You think they're dead?"

"There's no bodies," Lydia countered, keeping her head down and apparently thinking hard. "And there's no blood."

"Maybe they just left and are coming back soon?"

Lydia did not respond to this, scanning the entire camp in idle pondering.

"Could be," Lydia rang out. "But most of their items are still here. Weapons are laying by their bedsides."

She moved to a nearby tent and pulled a battleaxe out of it, stomping on it and breaking the steel underneath her foot.

"How do you know all this?" Brom blurted out, unable to contain himself as Lydia stopped her movement. "How did you learn to expect everything – and just, I don't know... _figure_ out everything?"

Lydia chuckled in amusement. "Remind me, how old are you?"

Brom opened his mouth in defeat, but Lydia cut him off before he could say anything. "Sixteen, I know."

She twirled the daggers in her palms, looking at the sky in tired gazes. "My life has been nothing but dealing with these types of things – and I have a lot of years on you."

"Right," Brom acknowledged. "Makes sense."

"Come on," she gestured towards him. "Scout around the camp. Take the upper planks... I'll take the ones closest to the water."

Brom nodded. He jumped off the entrance plank and made his way to the center plank, watching as Lydia disappeared inside the tent with the battleaxe, rumbling noises ensuing inside.

The central plank was relatively bare, and had only a fire pitched directly in the center – flames kindling weakly from the clearly overused wood. It had clearly been burning for a long time. Closer to the edges, there laid several items that posed great interest to Brom – an empty and small soul gem, several uncooked rabbit legs, and steel boots that were cracked in the heels. A satchel was placed nearby, and it featured several books inside. Brom quickly gathered and placed the soul gem and the rabbit legs into the satchel, while directly placing his leather-bound feet into the steel boots. They stuffed into place with a satisfying warmth, and the boots themselves were much lighter than Brom had expected. He slung the satchel over his shoulders, tying it loosely around his torso.

"Found some food and books!" he yelled towards the entrance of the camp.

"Good! Keep searching!" Lydia's voice came ringing at him, still inside the tent.

Brom took a flight of stairs away from the central plank, leading up into a plank that seemed to be partially built around a stony cliff. He squealed internally as he saw two chests laying tantalizingly underneath an extra-long table adorned with plain wood plates. With a significant effort, Brom pulled both chests out from underneath the table, back straining as the unusually heavy chests moved inch by inch.

"Son of a - "

With a jolt, he managed to get both chests in front of him, the dawn light highlighting their dusty and worn exterior. Brom felt around the center for the locks, opening both with great expectations.

Mostly, he had been disappointed.

The chest to his left was completely filled with rocks. These were not even rare breeds of stone that could be used to sharpen or hone a weapon – no, they were simply average-sized rocks that he might as well have found back on the mountain. He kicked the chest in anger, steel toe breaking through the wood to his surprise.

The chest to his right was more hopeful, although still largely unrewarding. There was a mammoth cheese bowl that was tucked away, apparently recently – for the cheese was still fresh – and two red amethysts. Brom grapsed the tiny gems in his fingers, rotating them around to observe their splendor of color, before shoving them and the food into the satchel.

His eyes moved to the cavern in front of him. It was intensely dark due to the massive stone jutting out to make a ceiling, and as far as he could hear, no one was inside. He thought about his next action, twirling his dagger around in his hand before deciding against his natural impulse.

"Not worth it," Brom muttered to himself.

As far as he could tell, he had just covered every plank that would belong to Lydia's vague categorization as "upper". He took the flight of stairs back down to the central plank, feeling the supports waver uneasily as he jumped down. Brom jumped onto the entrance plank.

There were at least four planks that were close to the water, and Lydia was currently standing on one far off – a completely filled potato sack in one hand and an orcish chest armor piece in the other. She recognized Brom at once, hopping to the plank he was on while motioning him to follow her.

"Nice boots by the way," she told Brom. "Steel?"

"Steel," he affirmed.

She took the same flight of stairs Brom had taken earlier, making her way up to the topmost plank with the cavern close by. Brom watched her sidestep the table, moving into the void.

"Wait!" Brom urged, grabbing her forearm and holding her back. "You want to go in _there_?"

Lydia appeared irritated and confused. "Yes. So?"

"I don't know," Brom randomly told her. "It seemed a bit scary to me."

"I already checked it," Lydia informed him. "I wouldn't have told you to come in if I noticed anything suspicious inside."

Lydia trounced off, disappearing into the dark cavern. Brom found the table from before, sitting down on the chair before bashing his head into the surface repeatedly.

"Idiot...Idiot...Idiot..."

"Um, Brom?"

He shot up at once, cheeks flushing with embarassment. "Hello. What is it?"

Lydia kept her cautiously perplexed expression. "Nothing... just come in, okay?"

Brom made sure she had went completely inside the cavern before turning to the table and just for remembrance, bashed his head once more.

"Idiot!"

He got up off the chair, running inside the black void inside the cavern and suddenly felt the floor disappear from beneath him.

"What the - "

It was too late of an expression, as Brom fell through thin air and kept his descent for half a second before suddenly coming to a halt as a dense net of fibrous webs slammed into his torso. The landing was soft and restrained, but it still hurt his injured shoulders as the thin web somewhat aggravated the gashes.

"Lydia!"

"Oh, sorry about that," her voice came from above him, pulling him to his feet. "Forgot to mention the drop."

"And the spiders!" Brom whined. "Why are you going into a spider den?"

"It's empty you idiot," Lydia noted in exasperation. "As I said, I've checked this."

Brom confirmed this. From the place he had fallen some meters above him, to the webs he had slammed into – the entire den was mainly lifeless. Spider corpses were nowhere to be found, and webs were strewn erratically throughout the rocky cave, sharp jettisons of stone protruding from the ceiling towards the floor. A lone orange tent, large enough to fit at least six people, was stuffed into the lowest point in the cave, towards the left rock wall.

Immediately, fire came from Lydia's palm and she walked to all four corners of the den, appearing to do nothing but then igniting torch stances Brom had not seen before while disorientated. A small flurry of light was now present, far enough to illuminate the den but not enough to reach the precipice that Brom had fallen off from.

"Nice," he complimented her, turning to the orange tent. "So I suppose we're staying here for a while?"

"For now," Lydia agreed. "Let's see what we found."

He followed her – as usual – into the large orange tent, satisifed to see multiple bed cots placed inside. It was tall enough to allow them both to stand upright, but Brom sat down immediately to relieve his tired knees.

"I am ridiculously tired," Brom stated with emphasis, tracking Lydia as she dropped both the Orcish chest armor piece and the full potato sack.

Lydia extracted more Orcish armor pieces from the potato sack, along with several stones sharp enough to at least partially improve the armor.

"There," she flatly stated. "Where's the food?"

Brom dug into his satchel, extracting the mammoth cheese bowl and the rabbit legs before handing them both to Lydia, closing the satchel afterwards.

"Fantastic," Lydia encouraged, taking large chunks of cheese in her mouth and shoved them into her mouth, devouring it hungrily.

Brom watched her, slightly repulsed by the animalistic manner in which she was eating.

"How do you stay thin?" he genuinely asked her, still engrossed in annihilating some more cheese. "Given that you eat like a hungry sabercat?"

"I do a lot of...activity during the day," Lydia simply observed. "I need the food."

"Leave some for me too, yeesh," Brom mumbled, grabbing some cheese and began taking small bites out of it. The taste was rich and pleasant, and the cheese had not aged enough to be considered rotten or even poor in consistency.

After the cheese, he turned to the rabbit legs – there were four of them, and the clear problem here was how to cook them – but Lydia solved that almost immediately as well.

She started her fire spell once more, placing a rabbit leg over the flames and holding it there for several seconds before tensing her palm and the flames intensified and took on almost a whitish tinge.

"It'll cook in minutes," she proudly mentioned, rotating the rabbit leg slowly with her hand. "You want one?"

"No I'm fine," Brom responded, helping himself to more cheese. "And I'm sorry."

Lydia did not stop the fire spell, but turned her head nonetheless. "What do you mean?"

"About what I said back at the Inn, about Riften and my parents," Brom mentioned. "In your room after you untied me. I was... confused and half-asleep."

"You were confused and half-asleep," Lydia reiterated, unconvinced with a glare, stopping the fire spell as the rabbit leg appeared fully cooked. "Right."

Brom suddenly remembered that he had not mentioned the books or the amethysts to her, digging into his satchel to extract a book. Lydia did not notice, consumed with ripping the meat off her rabbit leg, but Brom noted that the cover had a very old inscription, faded by age:

 _A Beginner's Guide to Jewlery Smithing._

 _Third Volume_

 _compiled by C.R Meluin_

Brom had an idea hit him like wildfire, deciding not to reveal the amethysts to her just yet, flipping open the first page while she finally noted him reading.

 _Rule 1: To properly smith jewlery, you must find a fully-equipped forge._

"What's that?" Lydia mouthed out between gulps. "You a reader?"

"No," Brom told her truthfully.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _*It might help to look at pictures of Karthspire camp, I might have not done the description perfect justice..._

 _As always, I appreciate any support that could be given, and thank you for the view! Forge on!_

 _~TWa_


	13. Predator and Prey (III)

**Predator and Prey (III)**

* * *

 _A key step in jewlery forging is to make sure the selected material is free from all impurities – or else your item will fetch a lower price than what you wanted._

Brom twiddled the amethysts in his fingers, noting two black spots on each – but otherwise the minerals seemed relatively pure.

 _Removal of any impurities is a simple process – simply dip the materials into the central forge until the impurities are burned away._

Brom closed the book, trying to recollect where the forge was. When they had first entered, they had seen multiple planks suspended above water – then some tents – and the forge, which had been directly to his right once he had entered. Brom shoved the amethysts back into his satchel, smirking as he watched an Orcish armor-clad Lydia return into the tent, shoving the flaps open angrily.

"What?" Brom inquired kindly. "What is it?"

Lydia sighed, then extracted a crumbled paper before throwing it Brom's direction. "Look at this."

Brom caught the paper, squinting and removing the crumples before seeing a poorly drawn region of grassland, with a central square dubbed "Karthspire". Brom moved his stare upwards and saw – to his joy – Markarth, represented by a circle and multiple stars. Between the two shapes there was a line, embellished with hastily-written phrases:

 _Distance too far._

 _Over two days on horseback._

 _Stay here and watch out for them._

"Two damnned days to Markarth," Lydia spat, clenching her forehead between her fingers. "On _horseback_."

"What did they mean by "them"?" Brom asked, ignoring her rage. "Not us, right?"

"Unlikely," Lydia responded. "They'd come for us if we were being hunted."

"Yeah," Brom agreed. "Whoever lived here before us – they just seemed like ordinary bandits."

"And they haven't come back to their camp," Lydia noted, taking the paper back from Brom. "Why?"

"No bodies," Brom began. "So they probably got captured by – the Brotherhood?"

Lydia smiled at his tentativeness, a hint of pride shining through. "Yes, it would seem so. Looks like while we were holed up in the mountain, they made their way around and tried to interrogate the poor scum who lived here."

She turned her back towards him, ears twitching frighteningly again.

"What?" Brom immediately rang.

"Nothing," she promptly replied. "Thought I heard something."

"Then the bandits that the Brotherood have taken," Brom returned to his original point. "They missed us completely when we on the mountain. They're probably coming back to their camp."

"We must have left some trail," Lydia sadly remarked. "And they're on horseback. We need to leave so - "

Lydia stopped, opening the flaps and focusing her head towards the exit of the cave nearly twenty feet above her. Brom followed her, also turning his ears towards the cave's exit.

"They must have come here!"

"Look, our chests are empty – they must have looted them!"

"Keep searching!"

"I guess we're leaving now," Brom quipped, satisifed to see Lydia give an appreciative sigh in return. He slung the satchel over his back. "Is there another way out of here?"

Lydia ignored him for some time, completely exiting the tent and dragging Brom with her before scanning the surrounding area, quickly extinguishing the torches with a silent shout.

"No - " she responded, staring at a portion of the wall masked by spider webs. "But we can make one."

"What?"

"Just follow me."

Brom moved to the area she had run to, observing that the wall was not just covered with spider webs, but it was also much more hollow-sounding than the other walls.

"I can do a shout that will reduce this wall to dust," Lydia breathed, keeping an ear swiveled towards the cave exit, still rumbling with voices. "But after that I'll need some time to regain my strength. It's quite draining."

"Go ahead," Brom stated, unsheathing his dagger. "Make it quick."

"Obviously."

Brom kept his dagger behind his forearm, hearing whizzing noises behind him as the wall appeared to be literally crumbling to the floor – and Lydia's throat seemed strained by the effort, head shaking and lips quivering with every energetic breath. He was surprised to notice how quiet it was.

"Do you they went inside the cave?"

"No, they would have been mangled by those blasted Frostbite spiders by now."

"You are correct Brother."

"So should we go in or not?"

Brom turned to Lydia, who had dissolved about half of the wall – just enough to fit Brom through.

"Go, go!" she urged, shoving him towards the semi-circular space.

He resisted her. "What about you?"

"I'll come through soon as well," Lydia responded with a shaky voice, clearly getting exhausted. "Just go now!"

Brom remained rooted to his spot. "We either go together or we don't go at all."

"You stupid little boy..." Lydia spat, but resumed her shouting as the wall began to crumble once again.

Brom felt a heavy noise thud behind him, and from the corner of his eyesight – the form in the center of cave held a torch high, moving from side to side.

"Might need more men down here!" the cloaked figure screamed above him. "They might be here! I don't see anyone though!"

Brom knew that the natural darkness of the cave would keep them cloaked for a few more minutes, and Lydia's efforts had reduced most of the wall to rubble.

"That's enough," she whispered. "Go!"

Brom stealthily contorted his body through the hole, while Lydia squeezed through right behind him.

"There's a way out of here," Lydia motioned, pointing towards a far-away light in the misty darkness. Brom noted that there was a slight wind through the air: it likely led out of Karthspire and back into the grasslands.

"Go ahead of me," Lydia commanded, keeping her back turned to Brom. "I'll follow you."

Brom ran immediately towards the light. Much like their mountainous escapade a night earlier, this darkened path took them upwards on an inclined slope, so Brom made sure to carefully latch onto any footholds or protruding edges of the cave that he could feel around him – one tumble could not only force Lydia and him back, but also reveal enough noise for the assassins to know they had broken through.

"Did you seal the path behind us?" Brom asked, breath panting as the slope grew steeper.

"Of course," Lydia's voice came back at him, back still turned and running backwards.

The light source was coming exceedingly close. To his dismay, he could barely see past the light as it was so brilliantly strong – some grass was visible, but any signs of life – hostile or not, remained absent.

"I can't see anything," Brom whispered behind him. "We're going into it blind."

Lydia sighed, now also panting for breath. "Just push through."

Brom curiously bent his head outside the cave opening, feeling warm sun hit his face before immediate shock settled in.

None of the landscape was visible – his entire field of vision was dwarfed by the monstrous face he had seen before – gruesome and fierce, the werewolf growled and bared its teeth, the same blunt edges terrifying Brom once more.

"RUN!"

Before he could move behind Lydia, the werewolf's clawed hand made contact with Brom's chest, shoving him backward and into her with an immense force that tore through his body – an audible cracking noise emerged as the ribs in front of him gave way and collapsed under the pressure, and his armor had been ripped into clean divisions where ripped flesh glowed red through.

His first instinct was to tumble back and minimize as much of the pain as possible as Lydia rolled along with them – two bodies jumbling down a narrow cave path. Brom's head randomly made contact with several edges of the rock passageway, issuing fresh wounds on his scalp and face as he desperately wished for him to stop rolling.

And it came.

Abruptly he stopped rolling, feeling Lydia's arm clutched to his while she had managed to grab onto a protruding rock and hold on. Brom turned back on the ground, seeing that several masked figures were now approaching him from the bottom of the slope, having broken through the hollow wall. Behind him and approaching from above, the werewolf made its way through the cramped crevice, powerfully destroying any edge of rock that came close to it. Luckily, they had both tumbled much farther away than the werewolf could see, but just from experience Brom knew that it was making its way to them as quickly as possible.

"There you are..."

The voice was sadistic and strained, and several figures ripped Lydia's arm away from Brom as he naturally rolled back – without resistance – into the arms of an unusually large Brotherhood member.

"Take care of the Dragonborn first."

Brom watched silently as Lydia initially kicked out against her attackers, completely killing two as they shoved forcefully against the narrow walls. Then she stopped fighting, Orcish chestplate broken into two as a spear wedged itself right into her chest as a Brotherhood member held her close while two more took her daggers away. Lydia remained standing for a time, coughing out words that seemed inaudible to Brom – then she crumpled to the ground. The large Brotherhood member from behind her stepped over her body, stamping firmly on the leaking blood that came from her sternum.

"Nowhere to run now."

And he was right.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Yes another short chapter, but it felt natural! I generally don't like doing short chapters, and if I do – rest assured I have more material stored up for the next chapter..._

 _Also I will be mostly unavailable to update for the next four days due to travel, and I'm not sure if I'll have internet where I'm going – but if there is, I'll definitely try to update!_

 _I appreciate any support you can give, and thank you for the view! Forge on!_

 _~TWa_


	14. Predator and Prey (IV)

**Predator and Prey (IV)**

* * *

"Brom..."

He instantly shot his head up, feeling the resistance of his two assailants as they kept meaty hands pressing him down onto his knees. Lydia was still moving – albeit slowly. She crawled on the floor as her chest wound continued to bleed freely, and Brom was confused to note the large Brotherhood member who simply observed her sluggish motions with amusement.

"You are lucky I did not wish to kill you," he growled, tearing off Lydia's helmet and grabbing her hair. "But I suppose killing you would defeat the whole purpose of this."

He let her head drop down onto the rock floor. Brom felt uncomfortable with the ensuing heat, all their bodies cramped into such a narrow crevice – and yet his fear remained elsewhere.

Despite being largely immobile due to the cracked ribs, and surrounded by Brotherhood members – Brom could only focus on the werewolf's steps, still coming closer as his attackers and Lydia seemed unaware that it was approaching from behind them all.

"We'll all die if we stay here!" Brom roared, feeling the broken bones shift jarringly. "It's coming for us!"

The large, cloaked figure turned to him, smiling with disdain. "And what might that be?"

"A werewolf," Brom breathed, frustrated with how restricted his body was with the two idiots holding him. "Maybe more than one. It's coming! Please..."

Brom saw the leading Brotherhood member gasp for a second, turning back to see the much larger werewolf with pure shock. With a cry of pure pain, the man was hoisted up into the air as the werewolf dug its claws into his chest, eye sockets glaring ruefully at the entire group. The Brotherhood leader struggled for a bit, before grinning playfully.

"Ah yes! Please don't kill me!" the man mocked, as the werewolf let him drop to the ground. "Please do not slaughter me, oh mighty wolf!"

To Brom's sad realizations, the werewolf remained standing just behind the Brotherhood leader, keeping watch over Lydia's crumpled form as she continued to try to move with the gaping hole in her armor and body.

"We have much more resources than you know of boy," the leader satisfyingly remarked. "And... I apologize for all this."

Abruptly, Brom felt the hands restraining him leave, letting Brom collapse onto his injured chest. He coughed out, trying to keep his organs from pressuring the broken bones any further.

"What - " Brom tried, remaining as still as possible on the rock floor. " - what do you mean?"

The leader did not reply for a moment. He grabbed Brom by the shoulders, forcing a hand past Brom's defenses and into his chest. Brom had expected excruciating pain, but instead felt a warming, powerful sensation spread over him as he audibly heard the bones shift and twist back into place. He prodded at his mended ribs suspiciously.

"I - " Brom breathed, looking around as the Brotherhood members pulled back their hoods. " - I do not understand."

He had expected most of the exposed faces to be menacing and angry. Instead, they all seemed very normal and balanced – gentle features often found in random citizens of Holds rather than the overly-aggressive, violent edges he had seen earlier in Lydia's companions. Most of them looked determined, young, and largely almost regretful.

"We did not know that you were a random stranger to her," the leader mentioned, oddly still keeping his hood on. "We thought you might be an ally of sorts. My friend here - "

The leader gestured to the large werewolf, who bowed his head in shame.

" - apologizes for injuring you. He did not know... and I do hope the ribs feel better."

Brom kept his mouth shut, disbelief practically bursting from his face and body language.

"We only recently found out that you two have no history together," the leader continued, keeping a wary eye on Lydia, who had stopped moving in an attempt to catch her breath. "We hunted you both for days, thinking you to be some trained warrior. How wrong we were."

Brom clenched his jaw, turning his face away.

"Well?" Brom whispered, still surprised by how easily his ribs had healed. "Make it quick."

"We have no intention of killing you," the leader spoke out, forcibly turning Brom around. "And as I said before – we apologize for our actions during the past days."

"I always knew you all were horrible people," Brom ignored, staring hard at the masked face. "But I never expected you to hurt your own people like this."

"Him?" the leader asked with concern, pointing towards the werewolf. "He was left half-dead in a ditch by Falkreath guards, body mangled by all the torture he went through. We saved him."

The werewolf seemed to understand this, but kept his gaze on Lydia nonetheless.

"He's a bit traumatized by everything," the leader softly regarded. "Mumbles random things often..."

That would explain what Brom had experienced earlier the night before, but still the story seemed oddly far-fetched for such a clandestine organization – and this did nothing to keep him from searching the floor for his dagger.

"Now please leave," the leader kindly commanded, grasping Brom by the shoulders. "My brothers will pay you a large portion for your troubles."

A member came forward, holding out a small but dense coin purse in front of Brom, expression tainted with regret.

"I think you're a horrible liar," Brom spat, slapping away the purse, then turning to glare at the leader. "And if you have the balls for it, you'll cut me down right now – just like you did to her."

"The Dragonborn has an unresolved matter with the Brotherhood," the leader responded calmly. "She has done a terrible, violent crime against us – and we need to simply deliver justice."

"Looks like you already did," Brom angrily rang out, worry flooding him as Lydia staggered again.

"That was to disable all her resistance," the leader defended. "As I said, we do not wish to kill her. We simply need to report her to the proper authorities – perhaps in a Hold nearby, and inform them of her crimes."

"And that's why you killed the people she was traveling with?" Brom shouted back, ignoring a twinge of anger popping as he remember Skulvar's desperate cries. "Because they also did crimes against you?"

"They attacked us first!" the leader also began shouting. "We came to the Inn with intentions of peace! She ordered them to cut us all down, in cold blood!"

"Again with the terrible lies," Brom smiled, deranged.

"Skulvar was an unfortunate mistake, with the same reasoning as we made with you," the leader calmed down, motioning for the member who had held the purse to bend down and present a sword to Brom. "This is the warrior that killed your master. Feel free to exact vengeance if you wish. It is only just."

Brom looked at the sword, surprise finally showing as he watched the bent over man quiver in fear, but resolute as the sword shivered in his hands.

"I'm not a killer," Brom quietly mentioned, doubt entering his mind. "I – I - "

"Listen boy, or - " the leader extracted a paper from his cloak, squinting for a second. " - Brom. I will say one final time – our entire group apologizes for the misery that you were put through, _especially_ with Skulvar's death. But we also try to make reparations wherever possible..."

The leader bent down to pick up the fallen coin purse, shooing away the bent Brotherhood member.

"This has enough septims to last you at least a year," the leader kindly informed Brom, pushing it to his hands. "That should be more than enough time to find yourself a job, acquire a temporary place of living, and move on with your life. Please do not interfere in what you know not about."

Brom clutched the coin purse hard, anxiety hitting him like a rock as he could still hear Lydia's struggling movements with the werewolf leaning over, inspecting her like a corpse.

"I wish I could tell you of her crimes," the leader pressed, taking advantage of Brom's silence. "But the mother that the Dragonborn had committed the crime against made me promise not to tell anyone of her suffering."

Brom blinked, trying to avoid eye contact with Lydia – who was urgently keeping her head up and trying to meet his gaze.

"But I understand if you do not believe me," the leader continued, drawing the same spear he had used earlier against Lydia. "But I swear to Talos, if you try to stop this justice, I will have no choice but to forcefully knock you out, cold."

Brom noted how he had avoided using the threat of death, opting for a simple, logical choice instead of excess killing.

"They're lying through their teeth Brom," Lydia strained voice came out, coughing out blood as the werewolf pushed a hand against her exposed back. "We're both going to die, but at least die with the right impression of me."

Brom held the coin purse harder, feeling a small side of him pulse with anger towards Lydia.

"Well you can stand still there if you wish," the leader announced, stowing away the spear. "But we are leaving. Farewell, Brom."

With that, he made a silent gesture to the werewolf, who picked Lydia up by the waist like a rag doll – slinging her over his wide shoulder.

"Let us leave Brothers," the leader called out, moving past Brom and into the hole Lydia had made before via shout – in the spider-webbed cave. "Perhaps now Astrid will finally get justice."

Brom did not recognize the name, but was taken aback as the Brotherhood members offered gentle apologies and even patted him lightly on the back, following their leader through the hole. The space was too small however, for the werewolf and Lydia in tow – so the members on the other side stood standing for a second, looking at the only still-hooded figure with interest.

"Give us a few moments to chip away at the wall old friend," the leader softly mentioned to the werewolf. "We don't want this entire cave collapsing in on us."

The werewolf almost appeared to smile, jagged teeth widening in space as its misshapen mouth stretched.

Brom watched the team work for several minutes, staying rooted to his spot. He tried to ignore how good his chest felt. Everything that he had assumed before was now almost coming back derisively towards him, and memories that he recalled only served to irritate him further. He had virtually no reason to trust Lydia at the beginning – yet he did, and now he had no reason to _distrust_ the Brotherhood now, and yet he still did.

 _You trusted Lydia because of a feeling,_ his inner voice quietly reminded him. _Not because of your mind._

"Please shut it, just for once..." Brom whispered to himself.

 _Your heart is telling you to disbelieve them. What does your mind say?_

Brom knew the answer so quickly that he almost felt an urge to bash his head against an edge or a rock – and he loathed himself for it. The coin purse jingled in his fingers, as cave noises with shifting rocks above his head rumbled – the more the group chipped away at the hole, the more prominent the noises became. The cave was clearly unstable.

 _Be smart_.

Brom kept staring at the werewolf, who was observing his expression with concern. It seemed very apologetic, and even had a bit of sympathy plastered onto its face – eye sockets contorting and folding as it turned back to the widening hole, now almost large enough to let itself and Lydia through.

Brom's dagger glinted by the werewolf's large feet, shining with temptation.

 _Do the right thing._

"I have an even better idea," Brom mouthed to himself, sprinting to retrieve the dagger, knowing he had seconds to execute his plan. "And this – will – be fair – to all of – you!"

Brom struck the dagger into the werewolf in between the spaces of his words, feeling it bend and twist as the fresh stab wounds made their way into key joints in its massive frame, buckling as Lydia tumbled from its slackened grip and fell onto the floor – still immobile.

Brom hastily shoved his entire body into the werewolf, making it tip slightly into the exposed hole as the head casually blazed enough the rock wall.

Immediate rumbling followed. Brom ran to Lydia, hauling one arm over his shoulder and forcing her to stand up.

"MOVE! MOVE! COME ON MOVE!" he roared.

Lydia struggled to her feet, Brom forcing her body forward towards the light still shining several hundred of feet ahead of them. The werewolf had been pinned by the force of the crumbling rock around him, blocking any entrance into our out of the cave.

"Keep moving!" Brom screamed, ignoring the yelling behind him from behind the wall. He knew that it would literally take a minute for the Brotherhood to extract the pinned werewolf, then resume their pursuit – and with Lydia's injury, he wasn't even sure whether they would make it to the exit, much less what they would do _if_ they got there.

"Come on!" Brom dragged, Lydia scraping her feet behind him.

"You should leave..." her words came out, ragged and confused.

"No," Brom replied firmly. "And I'm not saving you. _Trust_ me."

Lydia wanted to respond, but Brom shoved her forward more forcefully to keep her quiet. "Don't say anything. I'll explain later."

They gradually made their way past the light, and Brom felt the same initial confusion as he adjusted to the brightness, grasslands becoming visible and wildlife prominent once again. They were no mountains in the distance, but the river they had tracked earlier had reappeared – evidently they had come out the other end of Karthspire, with the mountain from earlier gone and new water now laid out in front of Brom. A crude boat, mostly broken and largely rotting on the inside, was perched just at the edge of the beach.

Brom heard several grunting noises behind him, although they were far away. From what he could hear, they still were pulling at the stuck werewolf – and its roaring was becoming more and more eerie, probably in pain as its flesh was being literally torn as the Brotherhood tugged at its body. Brom unsheathed his dagger, holding it close to his wrist.

"What are you doing?" Lydia whispered, voice stronger despite the injury. "What in the - "

Brom winced as he slit the blade through his wrist, feeling the vein rip and flesh split as fresh blood began dripping profusely downward onto the sandy beach.

"Give me your bracers," Brom ordered, surprised to see Lydia comply, probably due to shock. "Thanks."

Brom ripped off his leather armor, making Lydia stand on her own for a few seconds before propping her up again, tossing both the leather armor and the bracers right into the stream of blood flowing from his wrist. He slung his satchel over his bare torso once more. Shivering ensued as despite the sun, a strong breeze made its way past them both.

"Brom what are you - "

"Stop talking."

He felt his head get dizzy for two reasons – the sounds of the werewolf were now gone, and now replaced with grunting noises as the Brotherhood were making their way out of the cave. Brom wondered why they had not come out the same way he and Lydia had escaped out of, but he deduced that the rock wall had collapsed well enough to force them to exit through the cave and the camp – all the way around.

The other reason was that the blood loss was becoming very apparent, and Brom almost had to brace himself on Lydia for support.

"Have you gone insane?" Lydia bit in, voice stronger by the visible anger. "Why did you cut your wrist? They'll be coming for - "

Brom silenced her with a hand to her mouth, waiting until both her bracers and his armor on the grass-laden ground was thoroughly drenched in his blood before shakily kicking both items partially into the water, satisfied to see a red circle spreading in the bigger source of fluid. He dragged Lydia with him into the boat, tumbling into it as his wrist continued to freely spill new blood. He would have to patch it up soon – but his next command was even more important, the sounds of gates being ripped open ringing like bells in his ear – they had exited the camp. It would take them less than a minute now to make their way around the small island and see the pair – perhaps thirty seconds after that to effectively kill them.

"Can you do that force-shout-energy thing again?" Brom asked, hoping with his heart that his blood gamble had paid off.

"Of course," Lydia breathed back. "That requires very little effort on my part..."

Brom tried to speak again, but his wrist was throbbing uncontrollably and his body was shaking in shock as his eyes threatened to close at least twice. Lydia seemed to pick up on his idea, nodding then turning to the edge of the beach whether the boat was laying on.

Brom felt nothing at first. Then a tremendous burst of speed.

The force of Lydia's shout was effectively enough to propel the boat well away from the beach – from Brom's estimation, at least several hundreds of yards. To his joy, she didn't seem anymore strained than before.

And she kept shouting. Brom wasn't sure whether the island was getting farther away, or his eyes were simply closing faster as his wrist sent a painful shock throughout his entire arm. He watched the island disappear into the distance, then watched in front of him as large stretches of water sped past them both.

 **. . .**

He wasn't sure exactly how long he had been unconscious, but he had guessed correctly long ago that he was definitely not dead – yet. His wrist had sealed, and the painful sensation running through his body was gone. Brom felt vaguely off-balance on random moments, but for the most part he seemed stable, although he knew he had a long recovery ahead of him. Lydia had not fared so well – the chest injury was still keeping her from moving very much on her knees, and all the shouting – even if it was easy to her – had made her immensely tired, her form leaning against the edge of the boat while she watched Brom sympathetically.

"That was smart," she complimented, both bodies rocking as the boat made its way down the river, occasionally aided by a shout from Lydia. "The blood with the armor pieces. And considering how this river is known for large, killer fish - "

"This river has killer fish?" Brom broke in, shocked. "I just assumed that they would think we bled out then tumbled into the water and drowned."

"Either way," Lydia continued. "I've been keeping an eye out for the last few hours. They turned back a long time ago."

"How do you know?"

"Found a looking glass in the boat," Lydia replied, holding up a metal cylinder with differing shapes of glass in between. "After about five shouts, I looked through it and saw them waiting back at the beach at Karthspire – they looked at the blood, then the armor pieces, then the water... they celebrated and marked the beach with something. Probably a symbol."

"They told me that they didn't want to kill you," Brom breathed, wary of her responses now. "Why would they celebrate if they thought us both to be dead?"

"They're liars Brom," Lydia urged, moving closer to him after performing another shout. Her crawling seemed tired and desperate. "They couldn't care less about justice. I haven't done anything to them. They're just hunting me – and anyone tied to me – down."

"That's the truth, is it?"

Brom had delivered the line with so much hatred that Lydia almost did a double-take after hearing his tone.

"Of course it is," she replied.

"I doubt it. And the Markarth court will doubt it too."

Lydia seemed to be perplexed by this. "What do you mean?"

"I'm taking you to the Markarth court," Brom firmly stated. "You're going to have a full investigation. And _I'm_ going to go to sleep once we get there, and start my new life – a life that doesn't have me feeling any guilt."

Lydia again expressed her surprise. "What guilt?"

"Guilt that I made the wrong choice. All of your crimes are going to be exposed – whether you like it or not."

Lydia chuckled, turning his head away from him.

"Don't laugh at me," Brom spat, annoyed that she wasn't even looking at him. "You're my hostage now. You can't escape – at least not with that injury. I could keep you under control all the way to Markarth."

She smiled, spitting blood into the water, along with another shout. "I'm sure you could."

Brom tensed up. "I would be careful if I was you, Dragonborn – nowhere to hide now."

"I don't have anything to hide," Lydia confidently assured him. "By the – did you really believe any word they said to you?"

"I don't know who to believe," Brom truthfully spoke. "But I do now that this is the right thing to do."

Lydia nodded, expression hardening into a face Brom hadn't seen in many days. "Yes. I suppose if I was in your situation, I would do the very same."

"And don't even think about escaping," Brom hastily added. "If you try to - "

"I'm clearly in no position to swim anywhere," Lydia cut him off. "And as you said, I can barely keep awake – much less try to fight with you."

Her breathing was erratic and the shouts were definitely taking a toll on her, but Brom ignored all these in favor of the pursuit of absolute objectivity. "Good. Hopefully Markarth will either expose – or vindicate you."

"That's a pleasant word," Lydia joked, smile returning briefly. "Who taught you that?"

"Shut it."

"Brom - "

She moved still closer to him, placing a hand in gratefulness on his injured wrist.

"You did well," she noted. "You saved both of us, and - "

Brom felt a surge of anger shoot through him.

"Don't do that."

His voice was low and quiet, showing malice and disgust all furled into one.

Lydia blinked at him, keeping the hand on his wrist. "Don't do what?"

"You know what I mean."

She firmly kept the hand on his wrist, forcing Brom to reply. "Stop it, Lydia."

"Brom," she began. "I know you might seem confused now but you have to trust what I - "

Brom cut her off immediately, holding his dagger close to the injury in her chest as he brought his face close to hers.

"Don't you dare say anything to me," Brom menacingly commanded. "Don't. Talk. I don't trust you – not one bit."

Lydia did not appear to show any concern or fear, but remained wary of bringing her torso anywhere closer to Brom's dagger.

"I didn't even see the dagger coming," she sadly mentioned, a hint of pride beaming through. "Good technique."

Brom turned his face down, but kept the blade pointing at her. Fresh tears threatened to break free at his eyes, welling up from a mixture of emotions he had never experienced before.

He reached into his satchel, extracting the amethysts before tossing them as far as he could.

 **. . .**

It was close to night time. He had not spoken to her for hours, and neither had she.

He often would see her catching a glimpse at him from the corner of his gaze, but quickly looked away as he started to scowl at her. It hurt him to do so, but he had composed himself to do the right thing here – and the coin purse was still jingling, Brom spinning the coins around idly in partial excitement. The only noises that were audible were Lydia's occasional shouts and bloody coughs, worsening with time – and the water movements, small waves rocking and crashing against the boat.

Brom was fortunate that it was a warm night – any colder and he certainly would have been frozen solid. He wished that he had retained his leather armor back at the camp. He never thought of himself as being skinny, but truthfully any Nord's naked torso would shiver during the nights of Skyrim – even one as warm as this one.

He had checked the map twice, and nowhere around him gave him any sign that they were approaching Markarth – just vast blue stretches of water, gently reflecting the moonlight into the sky. Light fog prevented him from seeing too far – yet he was fairly certain that they were going in a straight path away from Karthspire.

It was a bizarrely tranquil environment for Brom to be in. On first glance, it reminded him of all the nights he had spent stargazing on the roof of the stables back in Whiterun – and in another vain, it had brought back memories of being hunted by a pack of werewolves. He almost wished he could talk to Lydia about it, but even after several hours, the dagger was still pointing resolutely in her direction.

"Brom," Lydia started.

"I said I don't want to talk to you. Not until we reach - "

"Look behind you."

Brom turned back, keeping the dagger pointed towards her. The visible outline of a beach shined a bit, contrasting against the heavy darkness of the water and moonlight. Brom saw the haziest of figures wave towards him, calling out in the fog. From what Brom could make out, the form had no weapons or any other people with it – and the overall body language put Brom at ease rather than on edge, although he wasn't sure it was because of the sleep deprivation or actually because Brom felt peace for once.

"Greetings! Are you foe or friend?" a voice came from the blurry figure.

Brom narrowed his eyes. "Friend! And - "

He turned back to Lydia, giving her another angry glare. " - I don't even know."

The closer Brom approached, the more he noticed how simply the figure was dressed – in simple rags, with plain boot wraps to cover his feet. His face looked weathered and aged, and it almost reminded Brom of a pleasantly friendly, non-insane version of Skulvar.

With a thud, their boat made contact with the beach, vast cliffs now coming into view as they stood imposingly behind the simply-dressed man on the beach, standing several hundreds of feet tall and laying much further back than Brom could clearly see.

"Greetings travelers, what brings you to - "

Immediately the man stopped, noticing Lydia's crumpled form on the boat past Brom. She gave an awkward wave.

"By the – that's the Dra - "

"Where are we?" Brom cut him off, amazed by the size of the cliffs as he stepped off the boat and onto the small beach side.

"You're by my farm," the man simply responded, mouth still agape after seeing Lydia. "Name's Salvius."

Brom, despite not seeing Lydia behind him, could almost picture her smug, bleeding smirk.

"Are there any guards nearby Salvius?" Brom inquired, shivering more strongly as the breeze intensified. "Any authority we could talk to near your farm?"

"Yes, I can get one at once!"

Salvius rushed off, sprinting down a pathway that led into the middle of the imposing cliffs. Brom turned to Lydia, pulling her up while pushing a dagger to her back.

"Don't try anything," he warned, shoving her forward despite her injury. "Or else - "

"You'll gut me like a fish," Lydia replied in boredom. "At least do something about this damned hole in my chest."

"No," Brom refused, following her down the pathway, casually stopping at a signpost. "Once we're in - "

Brom stopped, reading the very first wood section with great interest.

 _From Jarl Igmund, with pleasure:_

 _Welcome to the City of Stone._

 _Markarth._

 ** _[End of Act I]_**

* * *

 **A/N**

 _First Act/section completed! Yes, there's more Acts, it's not even close to done yet..._

 _I've planned out a lot for the story ahead, but the best thing honestly is how the story changes organically as the writing gets more natural with the characters – with that being said, hope the last half of this chapter didn't feel too rushed. Also, I make a lot of callbacks and references to previous events in the story – nothing should feel too out of context or random, but hopefully these will become easier to see with time..._

 _Writing style tweaks and general overhaul also coming in next chapter! Another big goal of mine is to keep action realistic – no fun having the Dragonborn simply outfight any opponent easily, is it?_

 _Another point is my stand on time-skips... yes they are useful, but only when used right. I'm not quite good at them yet, but I'm working on improving them..._

 _Now that the first major portion of the plot is done with, I feel a bit more liberated to really kick the story into high-gear and explore darker themes and expand characterization, utilize more dramatic devices, etc, etc, etc... – and to be honest, I'm hyped to start writing. Exposition's always a bit tricky for me, but with a long-haul story it was fun anyway._

 _All right, enough with the long author's note. As always, I appreciate any support you can give, and thank you for the view. Forge on._

 _~TWa_

 _P.S: The feedback (both reviews and pm's) have been almost overwhelming. Humbled to see a dedicated, and fairly large audience. (large for me honestly is 10-20+ :)) Just wanted to give another genuine, sincere, thank you to all._


	15. Butcher and Lamb

**Butcher and Lamb**

* * *

"Excuse me Dragonborn, but you what? Werewolves?"

"I know, seems unbelievable right? I had to kill at least four or five of them."

She watched him fiddle with his rotting cuffs, scratching at his face with confusion. His receding hairline reminded her of Bok.

"Anyways," Lydia continued, finally sitting up on the makeshift cot with a laborious movement. "When is your wife coming back with the news, Kleppr?"

The aged Nord rocked his head back and forth in thought, slender trails of white hair swinging with the motions.

"I think she should be back soon," Kleppr guessed, anxious as Lydia raised an eyebrow at him. "Old hag's probably trying to find something to pick on in this damned Inn. Hmph. Silverblood Inn my foot – should be called Dungblood Inn..."

"You shouldn't fight so much with her," Lydia tiredly advised him for the hundredth time since she had arrived here. "I may be injured, but I can still hear everything, you know."

"Hmph," Kleppr repeated. "Excuse me, I have to tend to my guests..."

Lydia nodded, watching the old Nord stumble across his own floor and slowly push open the double wooden doors, locking them behind him.

She was not comfortable with being alone just yet. Although so far Kleppr had kept his promise about making sure that it was unknown that she was in Markarth – his face seemed instinctively antagonizing to Lydia. From what she had seen, the Silverblood Inn always had a variety of physical theatrics and shouting matches coming from Kleppr and his wife, and Lydia worried that eventually a patron of the inn might casually peek into Kleppr's private quarters – and be shocked to see an injured Dragonborn, clad in ragged clothes and boots with not a weapon to defend herself with.

The cot creaked.

She tried to be grateful. After Salvius had brought a guard to see to Lydia's injuries last night, she had been forced to pay them both off to keep Brom and her presence in Markarth a secret – and so the ragged robes seemed fitting, along with a cheap hood. She had knocked on the first door they had seen, which just happened to be the Silverblood Inn – and she had regretted staying here since.

The place was well-maintained however. Stone walls and floors were practically a staple of construction in Markarth, and this meant that any sweeping jobs to do were remarkably easy – in fact, even Kleppr's private quarters was relatively spot-free, with just a few occasional scratches affecting two oakwood cabinets on either side of the room. In the morning sunlight currently swishing through the room, Kleppr's room took an almost peaceful, humble look to it.

Lydia had tried to sleep in a guest room like any other resident, but Kleppr had insisted on taking his while he took a room with his apparently insane wife. Lydia had not slept soudly that night at _all_.

"Here she is," a voice came through the entrance doors, Kleppr making his presence known before dragging in an equally old, angry woman behind him. She bore simple clothes and a vicious scowl, that disappeared after seeing Lydia hunched over on Kleppr's bed.

"Daedric princess," Kleppr started sarcastically, pointing at the woman. "Meet the Dragonborn of legend."

Lydia cocked an eyebrow, and the woman rolled her eyes and took Lydia's hand, shaking it enthusiastically.

"It is an honor to meet you, Dohvakiin," the woman immediately stated. "And I'm his wife – you can call me Frabbi."

"Right, nice to meet you Frabbi - " Lydia forcefully removed her hand, the shaking sending pulsing tremors through her pulverized torso. " - but be gentle with me, I'm not in great shape for receiving praise right now."

"I know I know," Frabbi corrected, urging Kleppr to close the doors behind her. "My husband told me everything about your travels here! My goodness, I can't even imagine the suffering – I would have met you last night itself when you nearly bled out on our doorstep, but I was - "

"It doesn't matter," Lydia coughed out, trying to calm her spine and ribs down. "I appreciate the hospitality you and your husband have given me."

"Oh it was nothing," Frabbi disregarded, moving back to Kleppr's side, leaning against the doors. "I just wish my children could see you."

"Yes," Lydia noted. "Kleppr told me about them earlier this morning. Hroki and Hreinn, right? You really have confidence in sending them that far – all the way to Helgen?"

"I'm sending them with their uncle," Frabbi pointed out, twirling several locks of her hair. "They all wanted to visit Riverwood to see a friend of Kleppr's – man named Alvor. In the process, they want to see what happened to Helgen – after the dragon attack and all."

"Yes, I suppose so..."

"By the way - " Frabbi wondered out loud. " - Kleppr told me you were traveling with a young boy. Where is he? Does he need any - "

"He doesn't need anything," Lydia cut her off, expression softening and taking on a mournful stance. "Trust me, after last night he doesn't need anything from any of us."

"I'm confused," Kleppr commented out of the blue, sitting down on the floor beside Lydia. "Does he not need any food or medical - "

"No," Lydia firmly replied, tracking Frabbi as she sat beside Kleppr. "He – I don't even know where he is now."

This was true. As soon as they both had met the guard last night, Brom had tried his utter best to paint her as a criminal and possibly a violent warrior, but the Markarth guard simply shrugged off his concerns and directed Lydia to the path winding up into Markarth – after she was forced to bribe him for his silence on the matter.

And that was the last she had seen of Brom. After failing to convict Lydia of any crime, he had roughly shoved Lydia's leaning form off him and onto Salvius, sprinting away into the darkness of night. She noticed right then that his steps were hurried but conflicted, and she audibly heard sniffling and several cries of anger before Brom disappeared from view entirely. If she had been healthy, she would have lunged towards him to try and change his mind – but she thought it was for the best if she let him go.

"Frabbi," Kleppr broke in. "Don't you have any news to tell the Dragonborn?"

Frabbi snapped back to focus at once. "Yes. I have inquired all around town, even in the slums – and I'm sorry to say, but I can't find any of your companions."

Lydia accepted this bit with some restraint, turning her eyes away from the couple. "I... see... what about the Redguard? A man named – S – Sot?"

She found it painful to even say his name. It was even more so that she remembered all the things she wished she had said to him before -

A blink. She did it involuntarily, and the rational part of her derided the stupid part, partially for keeping up such hope for so long.

"I'm sorry Dohvakiin," Frabbi whispered. "Nothing I could pick up on him either."

Lydia tried to force her eyes to remain static and emotionless, but every second that passed with the news Frabbit had given, and the more she found it difficult to keep up this promise. Her vision was getting blurry, and fresh tears began pooling –

"Was he close to you?" Kleppr asked, his wife prodding him for his stupid remark.

"I tried to make him so - " Lydia's voice trailed off, frustratingly stuck in a sea of memories.

It was peculiar to be in this position. As much as she tried, the two people around him never moved from their spots – and everything around Lydia seemed to spin and distort shape – some sort of mental tripwire had been activated, and every time she paused to think a new memory would come into view. Most of them were fleeting heaps of mirrored images of Sot, and some would force herself closer to him – but never quite touching. It was never easy to get past these ones.

"Never mind that - " Frabbi attempted to reconcile. "What about the boy?"

Lydia wanted to strangle her. Of all the topics to switch to, she had to pick this.

"Like I said before," Lydia started angrily. "I don't know. Haven't seen him since."

She calmed down, viewing the fearful expression on the couple. Lydia readjusted her torso, trying to lessen pressure on the wound. Her clothes were rumpled around it, but at least there were no bloodstains – anything at all that would signal how bad her condition was. This conversation only seemed to aggravate her.

"It's for the best," Lydia whispered to herself.

"How so?" Kleppr inquired, shooing Frabbi away as patrons made angry yells outside his quarters for more mead. Frabbi was careful to expose just enough of the room for her to step outside, then promptly locked the doors behind her.

"I told everyone in my group that were going to Solitude, to fight a Frost Dragon," Lydia breathed, voice heavy with regret. "We weren't."

This was stupid. She knew better than to reveal the truth to random strangers. An idealistic part of Lydia wished she could speak to Sot about this – he had been the only one who knew the actual reasons for leaving for Solitude.

"I heard about Solitude, yes - " Kleppr affirmed. " - the roads being all mangled there and the taxes - "

"That's what I used as an excuse," Lydia agreed. "But there is no Frost Dragon at Solitude."

"Then why did your crew make this terrible journey there if it was all a lie?"

Lydia lowered her eyes. She was doing the wrong thing, even under her own twisted perception of the situation. She _had_ to ignore all the pent-up guilt and frustration over the past few days, or risk being put in a bigger situation than ever before. To her disappointment, Frabbi had returned inside and sat right beside her husband once more.

"I needed a human sacrifice."

The proceeding silence was so mind-numbingly quiet that Lydia actually counted each individual second, moving eye contact from Kleppr to Frabbi, hoping foolishly that at least one of them would display some twisted sympathy. She was disappointed.

"You needed - " Frabbi began. " - a human... sacrifice?"

Lydia gulped, voice broken and brow compulsively furrowing. She tried to mask a new onslaught of tears. "I – have made – some mistakes."

Frabbi awkwardly kept her hand on Lydia's knee, trying to issue bouts of soothing reassurance but the moment Lydia had uttered that statement – she knew the conversation had taken a turn for the worse.

"I have heard about this before," Kleppr broke the tension. "Boethia, right? The Daedric Prince of deceit?"

"Indeed," Lydia agreed, voice low. "I knew Astrid, a member of the Dark Broterhood at one point. We were the best of friends..."

Lydia paused, letting memories overtake her for a while before resuming. "We both stumbled upon this odd statue – it was vibrating as we touched it. The next second, we feel this painful sensation in our heads as Boethia was speaking to us..."

"What did he say?" Frabbi asked immediately.

"To kill ourselves for him," Lydia responded, face static. "To become his chosen warriors. We obviously were frightened and ran away – but he kept speaking to us, nearly for weeks before we cut off his connection with us."

"How?"

Lydia gulped, unsure of how they would react. "I killed one of Astrid's companions. A member of the Brotherhood. That kept Boethia away from us for a while, but Astrid never forgave me after that. Sent a pack of Orcs to kill off many of companions – near Riften."

"So now the Brotherhood hunts you, does it?" Frabbi inquired, keeping both hands on her head to keep herself from fainting. "Our Inn is in danger?"

"Of course not," Lydia assured her, coughing. "They think I'm dead. But Boethia on the other hand..."

"What does he want from _you_?"

"For me to make another sacrifice," Lydia simply informed them. "Or else he would make my life horrible. Attacks, vicious nightmares... provoking Astrid into knowing where my group and I were... I had to do something."

"So you were plannng to sacrifice your entire crew?" Kleppr stated simply, apparently intrigued but unaffected.

Lydia shot her head up, tears jumping away from her face. "No! Of course not... but they won't leave me alone for anything – rotten bastards. I had to give then an excuse..."

"Something dramatic, I'd imagine," Frabbi intervened. "So you chose to make up a Frost Dragon terrorizing Solitude."

The anger was visible through her, but the more she continued to speak, the more Lydia realized how many suppressed emotions were now popping through her mouth. She had not taken the time to grieve back at the Inn – and she had repressed any feelings associated with the Brotherhood, her companions, or...

"By the – is that what the boy was for?" Frabbi announced, flabbergasted. "You were leading him to his own death?"

Lydia's head was shaking from the amount of tears and headaches that simultaneously hit her like ocean waves. She wished Frabbi and Kleppr would leave the room.

"No," Lydia truthfully responded. "Not at first. But - "

She was getting ahead of herself. Lydia rubbed at her eyes.

"I wanted to find someone who was of no importance to anyone," she tried to defend herself. "Someone with no real family or friends... someone who could just disappear off the face of the world and no one would care. Spent months just traveling Skyrim, looking around..."

Lydia sniffled, completely blocking her eyes with both hands. The crying was actually physically irritating her injury, but she could care less about that at the moment.

"So about a month ago I met this boy in Whiterun," Lydia continued, voice hoarse and almost faded. "Worked in the stables with an old idiot who was treating him horribly. I thought - "

Lydia stopped, injury worsening under the increased sobbing.

"Here have some," Kleppr encouraged, offering a small canteen of water to Lydia.

She felt she didn't deserve it, but drank three rhythmic, painful gulps – then handed the canteen back to Kleppr.

"Thank you," Lydia offered weakly. "But I thought that boy would be an ideal candidate to sacrifice for Boethia. I did some research on him after the first time we met – and it was true. He was an orphan from Riften, basically a street urchin who no one knew how he had come to Whiterun."

"No one would have made a scene if he was gone..." Frabbi mentioned sadly.

"That was the entire point - " Lydia began. " - but before I could settle my mind on it, I found another man, an Altmer named Ulundil – he only had one or two people who were close to him. So immediately I let go of Bro – I mean, the boy."

"So why did he still follow you?" Kleppr asked with concern. "He wasn't with you when I met you, but you told me last night that you were definitely traveling with a boy."

"He says he wanted to keep his idiot stablemaster happy," Lydia ruefully spat. "But I doubt that's the truth."

She paused, motioning for the canteen of water again. Her next sips were easier, before handing it back to Kleppr.

"I tried so hard to get rid of him..." Lydia mumbled, knowing her voice was bordering on incomprehensible. "All throughout, I kept reminding him that he could stop and leave for a new life – or better yet, just leave me alone... and the night of the Inn attack..."

"You don't have to bring that up again," Kleppr solemnly affirmed.

"Thank you," Lydia gratefully complied. "But in that attack, the Brotherhood had killed Ulundil. Slaughtered – mo – mo – most of my companions. And the boy and I escaped."

"And you just got back your human sacrifice..." Frabbi concluded.

Lydia waved her head around, rubbing at her brows uselessly. "I'm happy that he left me. If he knew the truth, he never would have followed me to begin with. And I – would have to live with the fact that I killed a child."

Lydia calmed down. By all reasons, she _was_ overjoyed that Brom left her – even if it did cause a twinge in her heart. It was far better to leave him while he was alive, than risk traveling with him to his death.

"So what will you do now?" Kleppr inquired, face apparently aging rapidly as he spoke further with Lydia.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "Right now the Brotherhood thinks we're dead, but Boethia must know we aren't... I need to find fighters and warriors – maybe some of the local guards."

"Then?"

"Then," Lydia breathed resolutely. "We hit her shrine directly. Many people will die in the effort – maybe even myself – but this accursed problem will go away forever. She won't trouble anyone for good. I will _not_ sacrifice anyone."

The statement was so true and raw with emotion that Lydia almost regained some of her strength.

"And the Brotherhood?"

"My _crimes_ against them," Lydia sarcastcally quipped. "Will probably be forgiven at that point. Astrid and I are not friends anymore but... at least we will part ways, peacefully."

"That's good," Frabbi noted. "And I guess it's better that the boy left you, isn't it? I can't imagine my little Hroki being a human sacrifice..."

"The boy is much older," Lydia firmly stated, determined to shove him out of her mind.

"You're right about that," Kleppr noted. "Salvius told me looked like your younger brother."

Lydia felt an enormous part of her swell with joy, then another section bit down those emotions fiercely. "You've spoken with Salvius?"

"Of course!" Kleppr enthusiastically burst out. "I had to know more about you two!"

Her voice trailed off. Lydia passed her time by occasionally glancing at Kleppr and Frabbi, who seemed to be lost in thought – and evaluating Lydia, not so much with a critical eye but rather, a sympathetic one. She did not understand how they would react to all of this – and the decision to tell random strangers this would probably come back to affect her later. But the alternative, to keep it repressed in her mind – would have likely killed her even more quickly.

"Why did you even let him go with you in the first place?" Kleppr started up once again. "You could have just told him to leave you alone."

Lydia mumbled something, but neither Kleppr nor Frabbi heard this.

"What was that, Dragonborn?"

"I - "

Lydia found it difficult to phrase why exactly she had allowed him to go with her. If she was being honest, it would have remarkably easy to force him away, and she had countless chances to do so – and yet, here she found herself.

"Dohvakiin?"

Lydia had to choose. Either she could give an answer that instinctively she felt, or give one that she had fabricated in her mind many times over.

"I don't know. His eyes."

Kleppr let out a harsh, biting laugh. "Wh – What?! His _eyes_?"

"Something about him," Lydia corrected. "His eyes. His voice. The youthfulness mixed with the innocence – it... warms me. I don't know, it makes me feel so – "

Two seconds in, and she knew she was making a massive mistake.

"It doesn't matter," Lydia ended, standing up suddenly with an effort. Kleppr and Frabbi immmediately went to hold her steady, body swaying under the new use of her spine.

"Go and ask for the Guardmaster in the Jarl's keep," Lydia commanded, still trying to keep her balance. "Please. I need to end this."

Kleppr nodded by her side, making sure Frabbi had a strong grip on her before rushing out the doors and locking them behind.

"I'm sorry about everything that happened."

Lydia took a moment of silence, listening to the sounds of the crowd before being gently eased back down onto the cot. "Thank you. Don't worry about me."

She could hear mead barrels tugging at the floor, dispensing closely-packed but fervent squeaks.

 **. . .**

He swung his arms above him, grasping onto the stone bridge. With a turning snap, Brom twisted himself onto it, standing at the guard below him with displeasure.

"No lollygagging!"

Brom watched the displeased guard stroll away on the hard path ahead of him, casually whistling a merry tune.

"Idiot," he cursed.

Brom had been sleeping so peacefully too. As soon as he had tumbled into Markarth last night, he barely understood where to go, eventually settling underneath a stone crosspath set above a small stream of water.

The city itself seemed to disobey every natural, logical law for construction – high-rise buildings were made out of stone, a river naturally flew through underneath the entire Hold, and tall spires of rocky cliffs bordered every person's view. To Brom, it very much seemed like the dark counterpart of Whiterun – while the latter was fresh, bright and vibrant, Markarth was dark, grey and seemed ancient. The morning sunlight had given the city an enormously pleasant, but imposing beauty, broken only by a magnificent waterfall set near the outskirts of the Hold, and deep moss patches that grew sporadically on surrounding stone.

Brom looked around him. He truly felt that he had lost all sense of direction - if he went forward, he would follow an artifical stone cliff up into a random building he did not recognize. If he went to his sides, he would continue along Markarth – but he had done that before. No amount of traveling had made him completely understand where anything was. He could always ask the citizens of course, but they seemed sparse and mostly focused on their own business – several had walked by him completely.

"You lost boy?"

A kindly Redguard woman had approached him, young face peering at Brom in concern.

"No," he lied. "Just looking for a friend."

"Well I hope you find him or her," the woman responded, before proceeding on her way. "Good day."

Brom sat down near the bridge, swinging his boots into the water.

"This is the dream..."

He had avoided thinking about Lydia for the past few hours. He was immensely frustrated by the guard's casual shrugging off of his concerns, and even worse, he seemed to take it all as a joke. Even when Brom specifically mentioned the Brotherhood and their werewolf army, the only thing he had received was a firm slap and an urgent demand to never speak about those matters again. Of course, it was to be expected... who would an average guard believe? A random boy, or the Dragonborn? Not that Lydia had protested any of Brom's claims that night, but she did not agree with him either.

He was surprised that there wasn't a commotion in the city yet. Likely, Lydia was masking herself inside the city – staying at an undisclosed location by way of a few septims' worth of bribery.

 _Stop distracting yourself._

He wished he could kill his inner monologue permanently. His mind was so desperately trying to change his focus to another topic, but he fought hard against it.

 _You're not even mad at her._

Brom grudgingly agreed with himself. Other than the Brotherhood's completely believable instistence that Lydia had committed crimes against them, there was virtually no proof of any of these events. Just from his understanding of her, Brom guessed that she was not anything the Brotherhood had described her to be – but he also felt uneasy when trying to evaluate her true character. Every single question about her goal to reach Solitude and kill the Frost Dragon, or her companions' history, or anything about herself...

All deflected.

He had failed to procure even a single truthful answer from her, and now he had a rare opportunity to do the thing she had always been advising him to do.

Leave. Make a better life. Live.

"Maybe she was right," Brom whispered. "Maybe it - "

"BOY!"

The voice was urgent and loud, and clearly audible over the quiet atmosphere of Markarth. Salvius' figure was running towards him from across some stone steps, skipping past a marketplace before stopping short of colliding into Brom.

"What?" Brom asked quickly, confused to even see Salvius again. "What do you want?"

"Here," Salvius informed vaguely, pushing a soggy book into Brom's hands. The leather was worn by water. "Found this while I was working my potato plants. Seemed to have flowed a long way before getting here. Has your name on the inside."

Brom pinched the covers, recognizing it instantly.

"Something wrong?" Salvius inquired.

"Nothing," Brom again lied. "Thanks."

Salvius performed a little bow, then sprinted up the steps once more.

Even with the billowing smoke from the marketplace and forge situated a few hundred feet ahead of him, Brom could clearly make out the letters of the partially degraded book.

 _A Beginner's Guide to Jewlery Smithing._

Brom flipped open to the center of the book, seeing the two small amethysts resilently stuck in between the pages. They remained just as pure as ever.

 **. . .**

Lydia groaned. The pressure in her chest was becoming increasingly erratic, and nothing that Frabbi gave her was helping. She understood that as a barmaiden, the Nord woman had only simple knowledge of alchemy – but anything would have worked better than rotting ale.

"Are you sure it was a healing potion?" Lydia asked, standing up from the cot as Kleppr made his way inside. "Kleppr, I think your wife is trying to kill me."

She had said it with a smile, but this unknowingly instigated yet another fight between the two.

"Idiot woman, can't you see - "

"Me the idiot? I don't see you moving your lazy - "

"I've been working the entire day! The only reason I'm back here is because it's night time!"

"Why _are_ you here at night time? Shouldn't you be with your ragged whores at the bottom of Karth River?"

"That time was a misunderstanding!"

"Well how kind of you to _misunderstand_ her in so many different _positions_..."

The bickering was continuing, and Lydia felt a rampant need to shout them both away. Even if she was discovered, at least this torture would be -

"Lydia."

 _No._ It couldn't be – there was no anger in the voice.

"Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" Frabbi at once yelled at the standing figure in the doorway. "Never open doors without - "

"Leave, the both of you," Lydia quietly urged. "Please."

"But - "

"Now."

Lydia did not turn her head, waiting for the footsteps to recede away and the door to be locked firmly after their exit. She wished she had made the request more polite, but at this point she was not entirely sure how to react. Her best instincts told her that there was no anger – yet why was he not saying anything?

"How - " Lydia started, trying to hide herself away from him. " - how did you find me?"

Brom leaned against the double doors, considering his response. "Asked Salvius. Told me he dropped you off near some Inn."

Lydia nodded, Brom noticing that she kept her eyes away from looking at him directly. "I see."

The atmosphere was actually much darker than he had expected, despite it being night time. The innkeeper's private quarters, as Brom had gathered, was not much more luxurious than any guest room. Most of the cabinets were dull and barely dusted – the stone floor gave off an incredibly boring impression on Brom, and the cot certainly was hurting Lydia's natural posture.

"How long have you been holed up in here?" Brom attempted, trying to catch her gaze somewhere.

"The whole day," Lydia replied. "Spent so much time trying to find my group."

"Any luck?"

"No," Lydia returned, finally staring at him with apologetic eyes. "I didn't think I would see you again."

Brom smiled imperceptibly, holding his hands up in defeat. "Neither did I."

Several seconds of silence. More bar noises coming from the outside, as the couple struggled to patronize and calm down the angry crowd.

"Tell me the truth," Brom ordered, observing her hunched over form with an objective stance. "All of it."

Lydia sighed, trying to shake her head in refusal. "Well - "

"Don't lie to me," Brom cut her off. "Not again. Please."

Brom tried to catch her once again through eye contact, but she skillfully manuevered around seeing him.

"There is no Frost Dragon at Solitude," Lydia whispered quietly. "The Brotherhood are hunting me because I abandoned their ranks."

Brom stuck his head up. "You were a part of the Dark Brotherhood? Really?"

"I was a deserter," Lydia casually announced. "I left their violent group behind. Spent months finding groups of warriors who would help me eradicate them entirely. Needed a horseman to complete our ranks..."

"Stop."

Brom's voice was angered, and she seemed distressed with how quickly he had shut her down. Nevertheless, she complied.

"Are you lying to me?" Brom asked. "Answer me."

Lydia shook her head, keeping her gaze fixed on the floor.

"Look me in the face and tell me."

He saw her eyes hesitate for a moment, but plowed their way upwards to see him. Her face was sunken with blood loss, features aged immensely but bizzarrely still youthful. She seemed to have accelerated fifteen years of her life.

"I'm not lying," she confidently spoke out, keeping a quivering stare at Brom. "Believe me, I couldn't – even if I wanted to."

Unexpected pressure. It was so quick and surging that Lydia almost thought she had been punched in the chest.

Brom was not leaning against the doorway anymore. His dark-haired locks was sitting just underneath her chin, face curled into her neck while his arms were wrapped around her sitting torso. His body was shaking slightly on the floor beside her cot, but no sounds came out. Instinctively her hands found their way to his now-clothed back and thick head of hair.

"Brom?"

No response. He continued to quiver, distressing her further. She tightened her grip on him, allowing her body to slide down a slanted portion of the cot, and onto the floor. Brom's body relaxed more into her frame.

Lydia drummed her fingers against the wavy black mass, while simultaneously kneading at his back. Most of the shivering had stopped now, and was being replaced by a rhythmic but perpetual sniffling – almost in tune with a very smooth, languid heartbeat.

"Brom..."

She just then remembered that she had a gaping hole cut through her chest, but even when she tried to focus on the pain it wouldn't come. Lydia felt a wet sensation drizzle down her shoulder.

Brom adjusted himself, curling his legs behind him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - "

"No," she replied firmly, letting her lips fall down to his head. She didn't have to exert any motion through them – just the feeling was enough. "I should be sorry."

"Yeah you should."

A chuckle. "Yeah, I should."

She was completely unaware of any pain in her chest. Even if a member of the Brotherhood came through Kleppr's quarters right now, Lydia wasn't feeling particularly afraid at all.

"Take me with you," his softness came out. "Wherever you're going. Please."

Her mind told her not to agree. Her mind told her to ask why. Her mind knew much better.

"I will."

It was a mistake, a slip of the mind.

"I always will."

She kept submitting.

"Always?"

His question was tentative, full of doubt – filled with fear and apprehension.

"Hush."

She loved it so much when he was shaking. Not because of the pain, but because she could keep holding him closer and closer.

Brom stopped shaking. She didn't stop holding him.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Enjoyed writing this..._

 _Lots of dialogue with not much action, I know – but the balance will get better with time... and I think a little characterization and drama shouldn't hurt..._

 _Hopefully everyone can see the new writing style tweaks and the new sections with better, more engaging wordplay – I have a tendency to get wordy, but I'm working on improving that. That being said, extra long chapter today!_

 _I would appreciate any support, and thank you for the view! Forge on._

 _~TWa_

 _P.S: Thinking about changing to T rating. Not for more views or whatever, but genuinely because I'm not sure what this classifies as. I think the themes and violence (with some more twisted, dark stuff ahead) are more than enough to earn an M, but right now I'm unsure. I'm going to keep it M unless told otherwise... tell me your opinions if you all want to, viewers!_


	16. Plan and Change

**Plan and Change**

* * *

Truthfully, everything was blurry.

He could not remember where he was. Everything in his vision was out of focus and turned inside out. The faintest glimmer of light came from the doors – but he ignored it. Several footsteps, then nothing. Brom was fairly certain he was alone in the somewhat darkened room. The two cabinets from before remained as dull as ever.

He really did not want to move. His position was so – relaxed that he felt no inclination to get up. Brom was laying on his back, but he also felt a soothing pressure massage at his temples that kept him from turning his body in any manner. It was light and comforting, and his arms had relegated to being wrapped around his own torso.

"Awake? My stomach is starting to hurt."

Brom rolled away from the voice, feeling the blood rush to his head as the mesmerizing pressure was gone and most of the troubling memories came back in full force. He blinked once or twice, making sure that Kleppr and Frabbi were not in the room.

"I have to go," Brom breathed out, keeping his eyes fixed on the double doors leading out of the quarters. "Good luck on the rest of your - "

"Stop."

She had succeeded, grasping most of his palm as he turned to go. Brom initially avoided looking at her face, but was forced to as his head gently turned to see her anyway.

"What's wrong?" Lydia asked, hair slanted to the sides of her head loosely. She seemed freshly energetic, almost like a recently awoken toddler. "Something you have to do outside?"

"You're the Dragonborn," Brom mumbled out, softly keeping his eyes on hers. "The way I behaved last night - "

"Be quiet you stupid boy," Lydia cut him off, letting go of his palm to move her hands to his ears, covering them both. "Stop trying to be - "

"I'm not," Brom urged, removing her hands, but still held onto them. "I really should have respected you more."

"I swear to Talos," Lydia whispered. "If you mention respect, Dragonborn, or behavior again..."

"You don't understand," Brom insisted, satisfied that the bar noises were keeping the innkeepers out of the quarters. "I was just – out of my mind last night. I - "

"You make it sound like we _bed_ each other," Lydia replied with a smirk. "If you know what I mean."

Brom hastily backed away from Lydia, who was on the verge of guffawing out loud. "Disgusting! How could you even think of - "

"Relax Sir Ven," Lydia assured, moving back to the cot, patting the space beside her. "Sit down."

Brom hesitated, turning back to the doors with fleeting thoughts.

"Come here Brom," Lydia sighed, smiling lightly at him. "I won't bite."

Brom obeyed, but only because he found it much harder to resist listening to her than before. "I really shouldn't have put you in that position."

"Yes," Lydia agreed, patting her bandage gingerly as Brom sat down beside her. "That _position_ didn't quite allow me to _finish_."

Brom stared at her confused for a moment, then disgust ran across his face. "Could you stop making that joke?"

"Mhm," Lydia mumbled, wincing as the bandage throbbed. "I think we're past the moment where we apologize to one another."

"It's only because you're the Dragonborn," Brom mentioned, ignoring Lydia's disapproval after hearing the word. "I mean there are certain rules that even _I_ have respect for."

Lydia groaned, looping an arm around him. "And I seem to you like such a stickler for tradition and rules?"

"Well obviously," Brom began. "Wait. No! I mean - "

"Oh shut it," Lydia ordered again. "Amazing. My chest is finally healing."

"That's good," Brom started, happy to change the subject. "How does it feel?"

"A bit better," Lydia assumed. "I can definitely move much more easily than yesterday."

Brom nodded. He let the silence prolong itself, trying to think of a response adequate enough to repair all the damage he had done last night. To his frustration, Lydia didn't seem the least bit bothered – and he wished she would scream, throw him out of the room, or do something to validate his own feelings of guilt.

"Why are you jumpy today?" Lydia asked fiercely, but there was a hint of playfulness as her hair swished.

"I acted like an idiot," Brom honestly blurted out. "And I made you witness my idiocy. Everything that happened – with the werewolves, and the Brotherhood, and Skulvar – everything just came back to me – "

His voice trailed off. Most of the time with her, every negative emotion that he had felt was quickly suppressed to make room for the rational part of him, which consistently ignored the growing sense of discomfort. Under most cases it was enough – now it felt like Brom had accidentally vomited them all out, right onto Lydia's lap.

"You're only sixteen," Lydia reminded him, uncoiling her arm from around his shoulders and leaned against him. "I'm thirty four. And I've seen enough battles for a lifetime of stories."

"Exactly," Brom gathered. "I was too much of a weakling to handle the reality of life."

"Werewolves and assassins are not reality," she gently spoke, passing her fingers over his. "I've seen men thrice you age crumble under such pressure. You did well."

"But that's always what bards sing about," Brom noted. "You never hear about the adventures of a stable boy. It's always about the Dragonborn or a warrior, usually killing something many times their own size."

"Well then," Lydia broke in, letting go of his fingers to stare at him directly with a soft, inquisitive vision. "Maybe it's time that they do."

Brom noticed that most of her body was taking on an attractive quality to him – but it wasn't anything that made his heart flutter with desire. Rather, she was passively calming him, similar to a casual breeze that constantly provided noise in the solitude of night time.

Most of the Nord women that he had seen had sparkling blue eyes and amazingly fair skin – yet Lydia as a whole seemed more intriguing, an attraction past the mere aesthetics. Dressed in rags, her skin was nearing the color of her clothing because of the accumulated dust and injuries – she seemed powerful and resilient, but also somewhat humble in her posture.

Her eyes caught him by surprise. It was profoundly and commonly brown, a clear contrast to the flawlessly rare blues that was sought after by so many women. But there was history to hers, a certain amount of flawed tenderness, yet also a capacity for great courage. It was not so much the sum of her features that drove him to keep looking at her, but rather what they represented – and the stories they could tell.

"Uh," Brom stalled, still fixated at the intensity of her gaze. "So - "

"Fine," Lydia admitted, rolling her eyes before tilting away from him. "I won't tell anyone about your – _weakling_ status, and I won't ever speak about last night again... if you promise to stop making such a big issue out of it."

"Thanks," Brom breathed with relief. "But you really won't?"

She grinned at him, forcing his hair down with a quick swipe – to his great irritation. "Yes. No one needs me to know what an embarrassed little girl you are."

There was no mocking derision in her voice, and her grin was so broad that he could have shoved an entire cake into it.

"I'm cutting this stupid thing," Brom fussed, shoving his hair violently above his eyes with angry strokes. "Heard enough about it."

"Good," Lydia agreed, snickering as the thick black locks refused to stay up. "Maybe people will finally start seeing you as a mature woman instead of a whiny girl."

He stopped trying to fiddle with his hair, letting fresh cackles of laughter slip through.

 **. . .**

"So what happens now?"

It was noon time, although Markarth's odd clouds made it seem like it was still morning due to the density of the coverage. Lydia had elected to continue their conversation near the lumber mill, away from the unsuspecting eyes and ears of the public. She and Brom had thanked both Frabbi and Kleppr before leaving, with Lydia spotting the couple a few septims to ease them over. Additionally, the lumber mill was also incredibly unoccupied – most of the citizens of Markarth in fact were holed up near the entrance, preparing for a grand festival involving Jarl Igmund meeting a few foreign ambassadors.

The mill itself was perched high relative to the rest of Markarth, sitting on a stony cliff set near the waterfall. There were stairways that flanked the structure, leading to a separate building – framing the entire scene with a simple roof and mill in the center, with a gushing waterfall and imposing towers of rocky mountains naturally twisting around.

"Not sure," Lydia replied to Brom, leaning against the edge of a close by stone wall.

"Should you really be exposing your face like that?" Brom asked, standing just in front of her near a forge. "Put your hood on."

"Don't need to," Lydia resisted. "I'm sure the Jarl and his _festivals_ will last at least a few more hours."

"You don't like festivals?"

She paused, interested by the acuteness of the question. "No, I suppose not."

"You are an extremely odd Dragonborn."

She sighed. He noticed. Brom appreciated how silent it was, without the distractions of people and – life.

"And that's all I am, right?" Lydia inquired. "Just the Dragonborn."

"Well," Brom started. "Who else would you want to be?"

"I'd like to be Lydia for a change," she whispered, casually working out the cricks in her neck. "I haven't had a good mead and headache in ages."

"Dragonborns can't drink mead?"

"I can," Lydia corrected. "But it's always _exquisite_ and _high-quality_. I'd like to have an old-fashioned bucket of troll piss like I used to in my youth."

Brom chuckled, blinking. "Yeah, I know that feeling."

"I doubt it," Lydia responded. "You can't reminisce about what you're currently _in._ "

"Doesn't mean I can't wish my life was simpler sometimes," Brom adjusted. "I really have no idea what to do with my time now."

"Neither do I."

Brom waited for her to continue the conversation, maybe spout a witty joke, but she sat there on the wall – looking more dejected and conflicted than he had seen her in years.

"You seem lost and annoyed," Brom began, trying to prod her. "Don't you have some glorious battle to fight?"

"You're talking about the Brotherhood aren't you?" Lydia immediately seized. "Well thanks to you, they think we're dead."

"You aren't thinking about fighting are you?"

She remained silent, worrying him. "Lydia – "

"They killed so many of my companions," she breathed, voice angered but still calm because of his presence. "People I've known almost since childhood..."

"What about Bok and Egvir?" Brom switched. "Any news on them?"

"They're not here," Lydia flatly stated. "I don't have much hope that they would be somewhere else. Sot is still a possibility however..."

Brom understood the difference in her tone. With the former two, Lydia had stated her lack of hope with an almost blunt objectivity, but her voice trembled imperceptibly once she mentioned the Redguard's name – and he was, of the three – least likely to be alive. Brom chose to not mention this.

"Right," Brom lied. "Well, I've heard around that the guards are working to take down the Brotherhood. Why not let them do it?"

"And wait hundreds of years?" Lydia fired back. "Those bumbling idiots couldn't find their own boots without a map."

Brom chuckled in appreciation, but pressed forward. "So with no one to support us, we're going to charge into the Brotherhood and wipe them all out?"

"I suppose _I_ am," Lydia stressed. "Not _we_."

Brom was taken aback. "You said last night that I could follow you around."

"I did," Lydia agreed. "But not into battle."

"I know how to use a dagger."

Lydia's next laugh was so ridiculously loud that Brom had to make sure no one was around to witness just how noticeable she was being.

"Stop laughing at me," Brom whispered, pinching Lydia's squealing form as hard as he could. "For the last time..."

"Prove it to me," Lydia managed out, still struggling to catch her breath. She moved to the forge, taking a lying dagger before tossing it to Brom. "Use the technique I showed you, on me."

"Did you just steal this dagger?" Brom asked urgently. "We can't use someone else's - "

"I'm just borrowing it," Lydia justified. "Relax and stab me."

Brom smiled, instinctively twisting the dagger behind his forearm. He narrowed his vision, focusing on Lydia' injured, rag-covered chest. A part of him was afraid that she was still too hurt to possibly block his attack, but another portion of his head reminded him that she was the Dragonborn.

He did the taught motion as fast as he could, but was stuck as a hand flew to his wrist and crushed the flesh against the cold steel, rendering his entire attack null.

"Aimed for my weak spot eh?" Lydia informed him with a raised eyebrow, keeping her grip on his wrist. "Smart. At least you've already got the lack of mercy that you must have – when fighting of course."

"How did you know I was aiming for your chest?" Brom asked, truly baffled. "I hadn't even moved my - "

"Your eye movements," Lydia cut him across, releasing his wrist. "High usually means neck, middle means chest, low is legs..."

"Right," Brom agreed. "So how am I supposed to attack?"

"First off," Lydia began, taking the dagger away from him. "I suppose I should have started you with a sword. That's a more proper way to begin thinking about these things."

Lydia tossed the dagger carelessly near the forge, grabbing an iron and a steel sword before offering both to Brom.

"Which one do you want?"

Brom examined the two. Although he knew any potential duel with her would result with him losing, he wondered whether the steel sword would be heavier – generally he thought of it as more durable, and more expensive.

"The iron's probably easier for you to use," Lydia read his mind again, examining his face. "It's heavier, but weaker and has more drag. The steel needs a bit more training to get used to."

Brom felt annoyed at the condescending tone, but Lydia fixed this immediately with a: "But it doesn't matter. Pick whatever you like."

He grabbed the iron hilt, examining the weight in his hand. It was almost three times as heavy as a dagger.

"Be careful when you're using it," Lydia cautioned. "Novice users often try to swing as hard as they can and they risk over-swinging."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that you'll swing right past me and – with the weight and momentum of it – make the hilt go right into your stomach."

Brom understood that while this was not lethal, it would be embarrassing to watch.

"Aren't you going to show me how to use it?" Brom queried, waiting for her to come by his side and guide his movements. "Seems more complex than using a dagger."

"I want to see what you can do with it first," Lydia replied cooly. "Then we'll go from there."

Brom held the hilt, imagining how it would cut through the air as it swung. He had always heard that while in a combat situation, he should always trust his instincts and leave the thinking elsewhere – yet in this scenario, he had no threat of impending death – but he did have a desire to prove himself.

Brom swung the sword moderately at Lydia's shoulder, disappointed to see her move so quickly away – and then remembered her previous words.

Utilizing his already completed swing, Brom spun around to swing even faster at Lydia, who still easily avoided it – but she had seemed to move closer to the flailing blade than before.

Brom doubled his speed, turning around once more – but instead of swinging, he jolted the blade forward, directly at Lydia's leg, while keeping his gaze fixed on her eyes.

Instantenously he felt the sword swing out of control and be thrown to the floor, while Lydia had moved startlingly close to him, her slightly taller frame peering down at him.

"Brom - " she began, looking at him with a confused, but merry expression. " - That was amazing!"

Brom found this highly nonsensical, especially coming from the Dragonborn. "It was nothing. I just - "

"I taught you a _few_ ideas about swinging swords," Lydia stated. "And you come at me with the confidence and experience of someone who fights Draugrs for a living!"

Brom was painfully aware of how red his cheeks were becoming, and Lydia seemed to simultaneously notice and ignore this.

"You're a natural," Lydia finished. "Come on, keep swinging and I'll keep teaching."

"Wait," Brom stopped, disappointed to see her excited face fall to a questioning glare. "Maybe this is what we could both do now?"

"Do what?" Lydia tried to further.

"I mean, let's just forget about the Brotherhood," Brom started. "Can't we just – travel the world and look for your companions? Maybe do something different than just chase after people – "

Lydia tried to combat this. "I understand, but I really need to end the Brotherhood."

"Why?"

Brom sensed her conflicted feelings. She seemed tired and pondering over a set of options.

"I just need to," Lydia blankly stated.

Brom wanted to press her further for questions, but also wished to avoid the situation that happened last night.

"Fine, we'll talk about it later," he admitted defeat. "But you're still going to teach me more things about fighting, right?"

"Of course," came the prompt reply. Her expression seemed to lighten after hearing this. "As long as you want to learn."

"Like I can even start doing shouts?" Brom began energetically, bouncing up and down as Lydia half-chuckled at him.

"Not sure about that," she answered honestly. "Shouts are more of an – uncontrollable thing to have. You can either do it, or you can't."

"Pshh," Brom disregarded. "I can learn how to shout. Watch this - "

Lydia watched Brom move closer to her, sucking in a great burst of air.

"FUS, RO DAH!"

Lydia snickered, watching him try his best to mimic her usual movements.

"FUS, RO DAH!"

She laughed some more, observing the redness in his face as he was struggling to breathe from the amount of the effort he was putting into it.

"FUS, RO DAH! Come on! Fall down, just for fun!"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Lydia - "

She was growing irritated by his persistence. "I said no."

"FUS, RO DAH!"

"Shut up Brom."

"Lydiaaaaa!"

She sighed.

"FUS, RO DAH!"

She made a mock amazed expression, artificially jerking backward to mimic energy pushing her.

"It's settled! I am the new Dragonborn!"

She smiled at him, watching him hop around like a bunny who had eaten five sweet rolls.

"Of course you are."

* * *

 **A/N**

 _And yet, she's STILL lying to him..._

 _Great fun writing this chapter as well, and a nice way for me to plan out my thoughts for future chapters too. Hopefully the writing style tweaks and additions are getting more prominent now..._

 _To be honest, after every chapter I find the story I have planned out changing a bit, just to keep in flow with the thoughts the characters would likely have. I'm always pushing for realism, so another thing to work on for me..._

 _As always, I would appreciate any support you can give, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TWa_

 _P.S: Fun fact, I had planned to have the "hug" scene with Brom and Lydia much, much LATER down the road but then changed it once I realized how natural it would be, in the story-wise progression, to have it happen after reaching Markarth and they both reflected for a bit... Plus I thought of even more interesting narratives to twist and push into their unique relationship, and hence even more drama... but that's all coming later!_


	17. Ending and Beginning

**Ending and Beginning**

* * *

They had spent the next few hours, straight until night – pointlessly practicing the movements Lydia taught for him. To their pleasant surprise, the Jarl's festival was taking an unusually long time to finish – and except for an occasional guard passing by to check the surroundings – Markarth remained as barren as ever. Brom had never before appreciated its beauty – ethereal moonlight gently dragging across the rocky slabs and mountains surrounding them. The forge was a comfortable presence in the middle of night time – and more importantly, he had used the brilliant light against Lydia several times, but still to no avail.

"I think I'm going to die," Lydia chuckled out, face red from laughing as Brom missed her completely. "You look so stupid when you swing."

"You said to put my body weight into it," Brom breathed, gasping as he realized he spent the last ten minutes missing her completely. "Then you said to swing with a straight wrist!"

"I know," Lydia acknowledged. "But still – seeing a novice try to duel is actually quite hilarious."

"Yes, thank you for reminding me how inept I am," Brom grumbled, throwing down the heavy sword before sitting on a nearby stone wall. "Really does wonders for my self-esteem."

She grinned broadly, turning her face down to walk towards him before sitting down on the floor, gently punching his feet.

"To be fair," Lydia responded. "You've progressed well in a few hours. I'd say you could probably duel for a few minutes with one of these bumbling fools Skyrim calls guards."

"Why do you hate them so much?" Brom asked with interest, trying to dodge her punches by rolling his ankles back. "They keep cities and major Holds safe."

"Their training is pathetic," Lydia noted. "And the massive corruption is another problem. Bribes and alliances with the Thieves Guild..."

Lydia stopped, suddenly standing up before looking at him with intense interest.

"You said you're from Riften right? Back at the the Frostfruit Inn, in my room..."

Brom rolled his eyes. "Again, I'm sorry about - "

"Don't be," Lydia cut across. "Why don't we go to Riften?"

Brom coughed, confused by her response. "And do what? I'd rather spar with a dragon that go to that horrible place again."

"Riften is home of the Thieves' Guild," Lydia noted again. "And about the most corrupt guard force I've ever seen."

"How is that helpful?"

"I'm sure Brynjolf and one of his rats might know more about the Brotherhood," Lydia regarded. "You've probably heard of him, yes?"

"Lydia," Brom began, ignoring her. "Can we please leave the Brotherhood alone?"

She peeked at him, eyes dangerously flat and demanding. "Stop talking about that."

"You were close with them," Brom agreed. "I know. But that doesn't mean putting more people in harm's way because you're feeling vengeful."

"You knew nothing about any of my group," she spat. "And like I said, I'm not talking about this anymore."

Brom tensed his face, hours of frustration – both from the sword fighting and trying to dissuade her – came out at once. He struck his legs away from her, hopping off the stone wall and proceeding to walk out of the forge. He expectantly felt a hand fly to his back.

"Good," she remarked, forcibly turning around. "Run away. Like you do at every stage of your life."

He knew she was deliberately trying to trigger him. He shrugged it off. "I will."

"Do you not understand why this is so important to me?" Lydia asked genuinely, trying to shake him. "The Brotherhood - "

"It doesn't matter, as simple as that," Brom cut her off. "What happened is over. They think we're dead. Nothing you do after this will save or help anyone."

Her eyes glazed over slightly.

"If you want my advice," Brom kindly started. "Drop all of this. Find something else."

"Psshh," she casually cut across. "Like what?"

Brom twisted his head, trying to find a suitable answer. He couldn't risk throwing Lydia off the entire program and mention how he wanted a more sustainable way of moving forward – but at the same time, a smalll piece of him yearned back for the action-driven lifestyle that she was appealing to. Then again, he had remembered the events last night with her – and cautioned the emotional parts of him against themselves.

It wasn't simply that he was unsure of how she felt - being so aggressively cornered by someone much less intimidating than her - but also the fact that he knew exactly the nostalgia and pain she was currently experiencing since the string of attacks; and he was making unreasonably high-ended propositions to her. Another section of him - mostly the rational side - had already cautioned him against being too forward with asking her to move on - after all, it was her choice, and still, she was not dependent on anything he could give her.

"We'll find something," Brom lazily let out. It was a horrible answer, but the only thing that mattered at this point was that her mind was kept off the Brotherhood. He had a perfectly lucid belief in her abilities to keep the both of them alive, and whether they ended up in Riften, Solitude, or even some dark hole in the ground - ultimately, they would have to leave Markarth and progress forward somehow. Brom was not sure what to make of Lydia's current predisposition towards finding Sot, but dismissed it as something that she would gradually accept with time - much like she had done with the rest of her group.

"We?"

Yet another pause, but Brom angrily glared at her.

"Yes. _We_."

Lydia chuckled, straightening herself before walking in front of him, back turned to his face.

"What?" Brom asked, confused by her sudden coldness.

"You're persistent," Lydia noted, turning back to lightly flick him across the forehead. "Fine."

"So no more Brotherhood?"

She hung on these words for a bit, passing a casual but analytical eye over his semi-excited form. Brom knew she would agree with him, but was considering how to give her response. The worst he could possibly do right now would be to finish her sentence for her – Brom knew she was literally throwing out quite a lot of her baggage and goals she had since arriving in Markarth.

"Yes," she concurred. "I suppose so."

Brom smiled, feeling a wave of energy hit him like never before. "Okay. Let's go!"

Lydia blinked at him, but Brom ignored this. He had to leave such an impressionable dent on her that she would understand just how relieved he felt now. His mind was racing with possibilities – and the fact that she had let go of everything she had held before made him slightly guilty, but also less constrained. From his point of view, anything could happen at this point.

"Let's leave through the back," Brom urged, nudging her hard on the shoulder before sprinting out the corner of the forge. He had no idea where he was going.

"Brom!" he heard behind him. "Where are we going?"

He was pleased to see her use _we_ instead of _I_.

"I don't know!" he roared back at her, fully aware of how stupid he sounded.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Really long overdue chapter, and much too short for the wait... But new chapter (regular size of course) coming tomorrow! As usual I try to make chapter divisions natural and organic._

 _Yes, finally got a new schedule down so now I can confidently say every 2 days (with a rare exception) a new chapter will be out – but I try as usual to update daily._

 _Anyways, still excited to write more so again thanks for the view, I'd appreciate any support, and forge on!_

 _~TWa_


	18. Smile and Ask (I)

**Smile and Ask (I)**

* * *

Brom trod across the half-frozen grass, shivering in violent bursts as Lydia followed him from behind. He had made every effort to lead the way, but she was picking up on the climate's effect on him. Outside Markarth and in the middle of the severely mountainous terrain, short stubs of crags and rocks rebounded gusts of wind in more powerful sprints. This effect, coupled with the sloping grass and lack of foliage created a tremendously powerful sinkhole effect – all the cold from Skyrim seemed to have pooled around them both.

While Lydia was perfectly capable of pilfering a heavy set of clothes back when they were still in Markarth, Brom found his best steal consisting of a horrible set of hide armor. It was intended to replace his original leather, but Brom secretly wished he had never thrown the old set out – this reeked of rotten fish, and he was fairly certain that the small brown stain on the back of it was not chocolate.

"Brom," she sounded off behind him. "If you shiver even one more time - "

At this point, it was primarily an issue of pride. She had caught him shivering at least four times in the past few hours, and Brom was certain eventually she would force him to –

"Stop."

Brom halted, somewhat relieved to be shoved out of his prideful state. "What? I'm fine."

He turned around, expecting her to be many paces behind him – instead, she was only a few steps back, and rapidly making her way across the sparse patches of tundra to him.

Lydia passed an inquisitive eye over him, brows and hair now lightly covered with very small snow particles.

"Oh, so you're fine?" she sarcastically repeated to him, moving her face closer to squint down at him. "You're going to be fine all the way to Solitude?"

Brom nodded his head, struggling to suppress the overwhelming urge to convulse in fits – the cold was getting worse.

He had forgotten about that. Just before he had escaped out the back exit of Markarth, they had an hour-long argument of places to go now that the Brotherhood was out of the picture – for him, the location was irrelevant. Lydia had earnestly backed up her previous Riften suggestion, but Brom had mostly whined enough to get his way – or perhaps just enough to force her to agree and shut him up.

The first place he could think of was Solitude – after all, that _was_ the original lie she had told him to begin all the things that had occurred since. He found this suggestion to be hilarious, but she took it as offense – but agreed nonetheless.

More importantly, she had cited how resource-heavy the Hold was relative to other cities, and the fact that she was mostly welcome and revered there – not on the level of Whiterun, but enough for her to string together a few last-ditch efforts to find Sot. Again he had stayed silent when she had mentioned that.

"Of course," Brom responded as firmly as he could. "I'm the epitome of solidarity and strength."

She worried enough about his state already – and Brom was not in the mood for another pitying, sympathetic list of directives.

"So you're saying that all this cold doesn't trouble you at all?" Lydia asked, almost amused by everything Brom was saying.

Brom speculated over his answer, still focused on not shivering. "Yes."

Involuntarily, he let out a brief wiggle that jolted through his back and arms. It was fleeting and small, but it was more than enough for Lydia.

"Wait here, close to this boulder," Lydia commanded, shoving him lightly to the large rock sitting close by. "I have an idea."

Brom rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in almost an infantile disobedience before looking away fro m her. "What idea?"

"You'll see," Lydia vaguely stated again. "Consider it a surprise."

Brom watched her move several paces away, stopping at an old pinewood tree. It seemed mostly worn down and unusable for starting a fire, but this didn't seem to dissuade Lydia – already busy with scraping a large chunk of wood out of the trunk, using a stolen war axe.

"I still don't understand why you didn't take a warhammer or anything bigger," Brom mentioned to her, tracking her movement back to him with the wood. "That wood won't start any fires – even with your spell. Weather's too horrible and the tree's too old."

"Because this was the only daedric weapon Markarth apparently had," Lydia spat angrily, but understandably. "And I'm not starting a fire."

Brom shot another curious glance at her, forcing another shiver down. "Wh – what?"

"You can't even speak properly," Lydia reprimanded, grasping his ears to Brom's embarrassment. "And you're about two minutes away from turning into some ice statue."

Brom watched her hands move back to the wood, and saw Lydia emit a very gentle, almost tranquil sort of energy – it clearly required some effort on her part, but the mouth's movements were delicate and almost guided by purpose. Her lips moved in very deliberate patterns, the silent shout actually morphing the wood to lengthen and flatten in sync with her meditations.

"What are you _doing_?" Brom tried to inflect with confusion, but allowed the ever-present feeling of awe slip through.

Lydia remained concentrated in her movements, holding up a hand to silence his question. Within a few moments, she stopped, taking a second to catch her breath. Eagerly, she smiled at Brom and held out the object in her hand – examining it from different angles.

To Brom, it did not resemble a crudely cut chunk of wood at all. Rather, the thickness of it had been dispersed and almost stretched into a curved form – it almost looked like an exceptionally long cuirass, or a overly large chest plate rather than a section of tree bark. Brom cautiously extended a hand towards it.

"Mm, no - " Lydia stopped him, moving the improvised cloak away from him. "This is for me."

Lydia began removing the heavy tunic and pants she had on, shivers reaching her as the skin was exposed freshly to the cold. Brom understood at once.

"No, don't do that," Brom guiltily noted, watching her convulse with the cold. "Let me use that wooden – erm – chest – wait no... that wooden - "

"Here," Lydia pushed the heavy clothes onto him, her bare undergarments almost turning icy cold with the ensuing wind. She hastily shoved the wooden cuirass around her, sighing with relief as they perfectly molded to her frame. "Ahh, much better."

Brom stood there with the blowing wind, clutching the warm clothes in his arms as he looked at Lydia with a grateful smile. She returned it, then encouraged him to try it on.

"Remove that garbage bag you call hide armor first," she advised, disgust running across her face. "Makes a prisoners' rags look like a Jarl's garments."

Brom nodded. He began to unzip the harness connecting all pieces of the armor to his torso, but then stopped as he realized Lydia was still facing his way – albeit staring at her own improvised cuirass.

"Could you erm – " Brom tentatively mumbled out. " - maybe face the other way?"

Lydia considered his words, a little confused by them. She had changed in front of him with no hesitation, but Brom somehow felt a bit more awkward knowing it was the Dragonborn who would be seeing him in his underwear.

Eventually, Lydia sighed and complied with his demand. "Whatever you say."

Brom hastily slipped off the stinking armor and leggings, shivering being replaced by powerful shaking as the sheer weight of the cold weather slapped his entire, newly exposed body in all the sensitive nodes of skin.

Brom easily slipped on her pants first, tightening them slightly to make up for his slightly slimmer waist. He fumbled next with the thick shirt, adjusting it so it was facing his way. Immediately, he stopped as a smirking stretch of lips and a pair of playful brown eyes caught him by surprise.

"LYDIA!"

Instantly she rotated her half-turned head away from him once more, although Brom's cheeks had already begun reddening – even under the current situations. He finally managed to orient the shirt properly, wearing it effortlessly as its size almost made it double as a hooded shirt. He was shocked by the amount of warmth within.

"Ok," he announced. "I'm done. You can turn back now."

"Thank you," Lydia mockingly recognized.

"Are you okay with that wooden thing?" Brom asked gently, concerned at how uncomfortable it looked to wear – despite Lydia's cheery demeanor at wearing it. "It looks – very stiff."

"It's made from a shout, and made from wood," she noted. "What did you expect? It's fine. It's actually quite warm."

"I see..."

"Brom?"

He narrowed his eyes, concerned by the serious tone. "What?"

"Are you familiar with the book: White Lily Rose?" Lydia asked with a powerfully grave tone.

Brom shook his head. "No. Why?"

"Because it explains how a flower looks the prettiest when it's in winter," Lydia informed him. "And how the flower has these white petals that surround a pink center."

Brom expressed confusion once more, but understood with anger as Lydia prodded her cheeks, then pointed towards him with a crafty smile.

"Hey Lydia," Brom fired back. "Have you read the book, _I saw the Dragonborn in Her Underwear_ before?"

She chuckled at him, and Brom understood her lack of offense almost immediately, becoming disappointed.

"No," she continued. "But I hear it's famous because of how attractive the Dragonborn is."

"I didn't think much of the pictures in it," Brom countered. "Think she looks a bit fat."

Lydia faked a highly offended expression as best as she could. "You think she's fat do you?"

"I suppose so," Brom realistically drawled on. "A fat tree to be precise."

Lydia swore at him, but this was ineffective as her target was still embroiled in concocting up more tree puns.

 **. . .**

"Someone's coming."

Brom immediately stopped his tread, seeing clear glimpses of a vague outline appearing quite quickly as soon as she had pointed it out to him.

This was perplexing. According to the map he had with him, they were nowhere near any major cities still, having barely crossed the Lover Stone about ten minutes ago. In such horrible weather, it was impossible to tell what time it was – and the mountainous regions were getting more difficult to traverse with every grassy patch they passed.

The area they were in was scarcely traveled, and the climate had become windy enough to almost delude the shapes in front of him. Either way, he unearthed an iron sword and waited patiently for Lydia to evaluate the possible threat.

"Seems like just an ordinary traveler," Lydia breathed to him, wooden armor lightly clicking as Brom relaxed himself. "Look, he's carrying a lantern."

The figure had sharpened to reveal a slender and incredibly short Khajiit, small tail and heavy traveler's garments clicking on the snow as he wobbled over to Lydia first.

"Greetings!" he announced cheerfully. "My name is Hrothgar! Would you like some fish?"

Brom studied the small man, chuckling at his name before Lydia punched him quiet. The Khajiit had extended a small bucket of fish to her, arms shaking from the incredible cold.

"Greetings traveler," Lydia returned. "Yes, thank you. And what are you doing in the cold?"

"Nothing important," the Khajiit mentioned. "Just a traveling fishmonger who always works!"

His manner was so cheerful that Brom found it quite annoying.

"Brom," Lydia stated flatly, looking into the bucket. "Come here and see – the fish."

He narrowed his eyes at her. He hadn't heard that tone from her in quite a while, not since they had encountered the werewolves - yet her words were placid and smooth. Brom peeked into the bucket.

His first instinct was to vomit.

The Khajit's bucket truthfully had nothing resembling fish at all. It was nearly filled to the brim with several patches of stained skin, appearing to have been ripped off their subjects – and an odd stench was rising up into the air. Two pairs of eyes, partially degraded from some tearing force – sat lifelessly in the center of the mutilated flesh, bouncing around the bucket with sickening taps. Moist blood was pooling around the tissues, and Brom understood immediately this was a serious problem.

"I – I - " Lydia began, at a loss for words. "No thank you..."

The Khajit seemed earnestly disappointed, but resumed his happy attitude. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Lydia repeated, grasping Brom hard on the elbow and dragging him away from the Khajiit while walking forward. "Come boy."

She hadn't used his name. Brom took it as a sure-fire sign that she was becoming incredibly anxious – to hide their identities.

"Are you sure?"

Brom focused on walking forward, away from the retreating voice and up a short, grassy hill with Lydia.

"Don't say anything," Lydia muttered to him, keeping her hard grip on his elbow. "Keep moving."

"Are you sure?"

The voice was growing louder, but not closer. Brom quickened his pace as his heart began to throb irregularly.

"Who was that?" Brom whispered to her, finding it difficult to keep up with Lydia's pace. "And why was he trying to pass off some poor soul's skin and eyes for fish?"

"I don't know," Lydia admitted, and Brom could sense the truthfulness in it. "Please walk faster."

"ARE YOU SURE?"

Again Brom turned back, but the Khajit was only a hollow outline in the farthest corner of his vision – yet the voice seemed to be growing more impatient and noisy.

"What's wrong with him?" Brom asked, holding his sword in a defensive position. "Why are we running from him?"

"To be safe," Lydia noted. "I don't know what he's capable of."

"Excuse me!"

This voice had come from directly in front of them – coming from a hulking, massive figure that went unnoticed by the pair – who were still focused on the Khajiit behind them. Another Khajiit came forward with an identical bucket, wide smile almost plastered on. He was wearing clothes that highly resembled the one far behind Brom and Lydia.

"Greetings! My name is Bothvar! Would you like to try some of my fish?"

Lydia stayed rooted to her spot, letting go of Brom's arm. She moved very close to him, just enough to be out of earshot of the Khajiit.

"When I say run," Lydia breathed, voice tense and combative. " _Run._ "

Brom waited patiently, nodding at the Khajiit – who was still approaching them.

"NOW!"

Lydia had swung her fist hard at Bothvar – if that was even his real name – before sprinting ahead, urging Brom in front of her.

"Go, go, go!"

Brom kept looking back to make sure she was still close by, but actively searched the surrounding tundra for any more figures appearing. He tried to squint past the wind, trees, and tall thickets of grass – but only heard more voices call after them both.

"ARE YOU SURE?"

"FRESH FISH HERE! FRESH - "

Lydia had gently nudged him to the right, and Brom followed her directions down a steep hill and into a fallen oak tree log. Lydia shoved him inside the massive hole, crouching them both down before sealing the entrance by pulling a large rock in front of them and stuffing it through the significantly smaller hole.

Brom sat in near total darkness, breath coming out in erratic gasps as he peeked through a small hole cut into the wood.

The Khajiit were rapidly growing in number. The two they had seen before were being joined by identically-dressed Khajiit, who had a number of buckets all held in hands. Most were significantly larger than Lydia – and almost all appeared to be stocky Khajiit men. They had formed a circle around the fallen log, as far as Brom could see from his tiny peephole – and he estimated they numbered in the hundreds, if not more – and they were growing quickly.

"How didn't we notice any of them?" Lydia asked, perhaps rhetorically – ignoring the increasing sound of synchronized chanting. "There's so many..."

Brom noted that one of them appeared to have a nude Redguard warrior slung over his shoulder – before the Khajiit dumped the lifeless body to the ground, motioning for some Khajiit to form a small circle of their own around the Redguard's body. Brom gasped as they all unsheathed thick knives, but also widened his eyes in terror as out came several bowls... and forks.

Now, Brom instantly recognized the Redguard. He remembered those aged, stern features.

Sot.

Brom turned away from the tiny hole immediately, a mix of emotions hitting him as once as Lydia frantically kept listening around in the dark – senses overwhelmed by the now thousand-strong group of Khajiit – all crying out for selling their fish.

Brom gagged as the discernible noises of cutting and chewing sounds came from behind him, from the small circle of Khajit he had seen through the hole before. A foul stench began filling the air, even infilitrating the tree log.

Lydia was shaking his shoulders desperately, saying something very loudly in the dark to him – but he couldn't focus on it. The only sounds audible to Brom were the chewing and the crying.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _This actually has been a portion of the story that I've wanted to write since the beginning, and it really is, in my opinion is when the pace really starts to pick up, and all that familiar comfort in previous chapters starts to fade away. Hope everyone is enjoying the ride so far, even though I know this last one was a bit open-ended to finish at._

 _The story gets progressively darker and more mature as new chapters come out, and I try to tackle some new themes every time I publish – but anyways, much more to come! In retrospect, giving the story an M rating was probably the right decision – it just takes a while to get into everything. (I love slow-builds...)_

 _Even I had to go back and re-read old chapters to make sure there's proper continuity of some small details, so I'd encourage any viewer to check out past chapters if anything seems confusing._

 _I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW (changed it to TW for convenience's sake)_

 _P.S: All right, so I finally have a realistic estimate for chapter frequency of uploads. 1-3 days. As always, I'll try to update as quickly as possible – this really is one of my favorite writing projects to work on!_

 _P.P.S: Final note: Observe pictures of the map around the Lover's stone, near Markarth if you're having trouble picturing the setting - it's a great place to have some suspense..._


	19. Smile and Ask (II)

_DISCLAIMER: I've said this before, but this second Act really does note a big mood shift in how the plot is going. And this is one of the more... squeamish chapters. I won't put any more of these disclaimers from now on (just to avoid any kind of a spoiler), but I feel the first time around, I owe everyone some transparency. That being said, I hope you... enjoy? :) You've been warned!_

* * *

 **Smile and Ask (II)**

* * *

"Lydia..."

He had to be careful with how loud he was letting his voice be. Brom was certain that they knew he and Lydia were trapped with only one exit point – but why had they not burst in yet?

"Excellent cooking brother... and such a beautiful piece of fish it was..."

It was the voices, those disgustingly calm yet measured words that every so often came through the microscopic peephole in the wood – that truly bothered Brom. The darkness of the tree log was a merciful thing to have, as he was spared looking at how stressed Lydia was – but the sounds and chatter of their assailants outside were the worst possible sensory details Brom could pick up. Thankfully, most of the chewing noises had long since subsided, but the stench remained.

"I caught this little fishy running down the stream, screaming for several other fishies," another cool, almost quietly modest voice rang. "Do you need more salt?"

"Yes please..."

It was naturally revolting, what with the sickening combination of politeness and horrible violence that truly kept Brom perpetually afraid. The Brotherhood seemed tame by comparison – they after all, had a simple cause to go after, and a person to kill – but these people seemed twisted in some other way, confused in their heads, and apparently possessing any sort of definable moral sense. They were no doubt less trained than the Brotherhood, but also seemed capable of much more.

"Okay," Lydia urged to him, keeping an eye on the rock blocking the entrance into the log. "You have your sword with you?"

Brom nodded vigorously, knowing fully well she wouldn't be able to see him. "Yes. It's ready and in my hand."

"Okay, come closer to me."

It was an untenable proposition. Brom felt that their lack of movement and quiet words were the only thing keeping the khajiit outside from storming in – although he was unsure why.

"You think that's safe?"

He wished he could see her face. But perhaps, her silence was more important to note now than before.

"They haven't come in yet," Lydia's voice firmly came out. "I doubt anything we do – as long as we stay inside – will make them change their minds."

Brom didn't really trust this reasoning at all, but moved closer to her voice regardless.

"Okay," he breathed. "Now what?"

A hand gently moved to his right palm, guiding it upwards in the darkness. The voice again came, but this time from behind him.

"I'm going to teach you to control a Fire spell," Lydia stated, tilting his palm so it was parallel to the ground. "You don't have enough time to learn how to make one yet, but at the least you can hold and use one in your hand."

Brom felt the hand controlling his palm leave him for a moment, but then a flicker of light sparked before a heated flame emerged from her finger.

"Move your hand closer, and underneath mine."

Brom was wary of being burned, so he opted to move it as close as possible to the flame – as long as he didn't feel the heat.

"Brom," Lydia began earnestly. "I'm going to put the flame in the middle of the palm. It's essential that you mentally think of the fire as being under your control."

"Or else what happens?" Brom inserted quickly.

"Well, I'm basically lighting your hand on fire," Lydia objectively mentioned. "You'll get burned unless you control it, and quickly."

"And if I can't?"

"I'll extinguish it with a shout," Lydia reassured. "But I'd really prefer you have something besides that sword to defend yourself with."

This was logical. Brom mentally prepared himself, visualizing a flame in his palm leave his hand, and float in air, suspended and under his control. He waited for the burning sensation to arrive.

"Brother, what happened to the two fishies you caught an hour ago?" a voice came, slurred and almost dejected. "They seemed simply delicious."

"They wiggled out of my net," a sad, mumbled tone came out. "I think they fell somewhere into the tree..."

"Brom," Lydia breathed behind him. "It's now or never."

"But of course, fishies always rot in treesies..."

Brom's arm was shaking uncontrollably, but he nodded and breathed back to her: "Yes."

"And my mama always said, a rotten fishy might make you queasy..."

Lydia touched the center of his hand with the flame, and Brom felt the immediate sensation of burning flesh fill his head.

It was excruciating. He shut his eyes and pictured an imaginary flame moving away from his hand and into the air just above his palm.

"But catching rotten fishies would be so easy..."

"I can't," Brom mumbled with tremendous effort, suppressing a growing desire to cry out in pain. "My palm's turning black. Stop it, please."

"No," Lydia refused, Brom feeling her torso press against his back. "Control it."

"I can't..."

"A rotten fishy might make you sneezy..."

The pain was intense. It almost felt as if the flame was actively destroying his palm, and moving onto the bone, gnawing silently at the sensitive nubs of flesh underneath skin.

"Lydia stop it please..."

He half-sobbed, letting his head droop down as the mental image of a flame under his control was gone – replaced by a vision of a strong inferno burning down his entire skeleton.

Lydia seized his hand, gripping it with sensational bursts of new pain.

"I won't," Lydia demanded. "Either you control it, or lose your hand."

"You said you – you – you would stop it if - "

"I lied."

"A crafty fishy is never a good fishy..."

Brom wasn't even able to cry out, despite for the first time actually trying to do so. Reading his mind, Lydia shut his mouth with another free hand, gripping both his palm and face tightly. Her voice was so close, and so agonizingly indifferent to his pain that for a moment, Brom forgot about the voices coming from the outside.

"Control. It."

"Neither is a fishy with an attitude..."

Brom sniffled, squeezing out the image of the inferno burning his skeleton and replaced it with a fireball, perfectly shaped and spherical, dormant and peaceful in the air above his palm. Several tears had certainly escaped his eyes, falling onto Lydia's fingers, but she remained as cold as ever.

"Imagine yourself in control, and you will be."

"Brother, I think the fishies are cooking some fishies of their own – look at the smoke coming out."

Brom tensed, aggressively squeezing every muscle of his hand. First the pain continued, uncaring of his effort.

Then nothing. The pain left, almost without a trace.

He opened his eyes again, gaze widening as Brom witnessed an obedient and smaller flame sit happily in the space above his palm, vibrating every so often he involuntarily moved his hand.

"Good," Lydia acknowledged, tilting his palm to see the considerably charred flesh underneath. "I'll take care of this later. Should be a simple healing spell."

Brom turned back, the flame just powerful enough to allow him to see her mouth – apologetically pursed, but smiling widely all the same.

"How do I use it?" Brom sniffled, still wincing as small stabs of remnant pain came back. "Do I breathe hard, or something?"

"Do the same thing you just did," Lydia whispered, rotating her eyes to track the sound of footsteps – rapidly growing outside the log. "Focus and extend your arm towards the target."

Brom nodded once more.

"Excuse me, greetings!"

Lydia dragged Brom back immediately. The rock blocking the entry point of the log was gone, dumped casually to the side – to let in cool night air. It was oddly refreshing, and the feeling mixed poorly with Brom's impending sense of anxiety.

"Back off," Lydia commanded, producing two large balls of electricity – at least four times the size of Brom's fireball – in her hands. "Come any closer khajiit, and I swear I shall kill you."

The male khajiit standing outside the log chuckled. The man moved away from the opening, allowing Brom to catch a glimpse at the hundreds of khajiit similarly standing right outside. Yet there was no attack, and none of them rushed in. The khajiit motioned for them – politely and kindly – to exit the log.

"What are they doing?" Lydia breathed, gently pushing Brom forward while keeping her shock spells active in her palms. "Do they have any weapons? How many of them can you see?"

"Hundreds," Brom breathed back, crawling carefully towards the opening with the fire spell.

He found it difficult to attack them. Every single khajiit he could see had an elegantly wide, genuinely apologetic smile plastered on their face – and it disturbed Brom greatly. His mind and instincts were so inherently distrusting and anxious, waiting for any sign of danger: the flash of a knife, glint of steel, maybe even a movement – but nothing came. The landscape appeared littered with khajiit men dressed in fine clothes, with nothing but moonlight and some distant crags to break the tension.

"Greetings."

Unexpectedly, he and Lydia had already made it outside of the log. Brom was shorter than the majority of the men, and turned to Lydia to gauage a proper estimate from her. From his perspective, everything around him resembled tall, muscular bodies with fur and baskets – and the stench was worse than ever. Brom avoided looking at Sot's body, thankful that what remained of him was still covered by the khajiit men. He hoped Lydia wasn't looking in that direction.

"There's _thousands_ of them," Lydia announced, quickly flanking Brom's back with her body. She raised both shock spells high and parallel to the ground. "Brom, on the count of - "

"I would advise against doing that," a particularly tall khajiit came forward. "Please, sample some of our fish."

Brom audibly heard Lydia charge her spell behind him.

"You really wouldn't dare fight us, would you?" the khajiit asked, almost... _frightened_ by the possibility. "We love peace. And you'll most certainly lose _him_."

Brom felt offended by the word. He felt distrustful of their demeanor. He felt more rage than ever before to be dismissed as ineffective once more.

So he struck first. Brom pushed out his arm.

The fire spell was incredible to watch, unfurling in brilliant orange petals. At least twenty khajiit – all in front of him – were engulfed in a massive burst of fire. Brom kept his focus up, advancing his arm all around him to reach as many of them as possible.

Behind, the sound of burning flesh and what seemed like a thunderstorm were going off simultaneously – and Brom felt his ears almost pop from the pressure. Such incredible energy was being given off behind him, a type of power he had never seen her use before – it almost seemed malevolent and dark, as if she was summoning some ancient, mystical power to obliterate anything in front of her.

A slash of silver. Fresh blood spurted from his wrist, cutting off the fire spell immediately. Brom tried to focus it back into his palm, but it evaporated into air – and he once again saw that same, smiling face.

A sudden crushing pain followed, hitting him in his abdomen.

He recoiled initially, but hastily withdrew the sword back and turned to face his foe – who was still standing.

"I'll send you to Sovngarde you bastard," Brom cursed in the lowest voice he could muster, hating that smiling face with a fiery passion.

The electricity was gone from behind him – although he felt it was voluntary. Brom knew that there was no chance Lydia had been injured like him too – she was too skillful for that. Then why did she -

"Please!" the muscular khajiit begged, the fakeness in his voice almost vomit-worthy. "Please do not force us to kill your fellow traveler!"

Brom understood why she had stopped. As usual, he had let her down – become the weak link in an already ineffective plan.

"What do you want?" Lydia urged angrily from behind Brom. He wished he could turn around and apologize to her.

"Your friend appears to be bleeding," the khajiit asked, again with the fakely genuine concern. "Here, let me help."

Brom had expected the tall man to approach him and grab his injured wrist, but instead traveled to the group a few paces away – still hungrily devouring portions of Sot. He idly greeted a few of them, before picking up a large ring finger – dismembered and dried out – before walking back to Brom, extending it to him.

"Here," the khajiit offered. "My mama always said, roasted fish helps heal injuries much more quickly."

Brom laughed mirthfully, swinging his sword at the extended hand – to his dismay, not quickly enough to cut it clean off – but still fast enough to leave a large gash on the thick forearm.

The khajiit did not yell out in pain, or even acknolwedge he had been hurt in any way – his arm simply moving with the force of the swing slightly downward.

"Go and choke on it," Brom spat, frustrated to see none of the khajiit angry or in battle stances. "Your precious _fish_ , I mean."

"Brom..."

Lydia's voice had startled him, and it seemed pleading – but he didn't care. At this point, he was perfectly all right with dying – as long as he could cut at least one of these fool's mouths off, removing their smiles from his memory.

Another crushing pain, but this time on his face – cutting just above the cheekbone.

" _That_ was a warning," the khajiit observed, watching Brom rub the fresh cut with the palm holding the iron sword. "One more rejection of our gift, and I'll send you to Sovngarde myself."

"Stop it," Lydia commanded, grabbing his wrist and flexing it hard enough to force Brom to drop the sword, while she threw down her prized daedric war-axe – both at the muscular khajiit's feet.

"We surrender," Lydia stated with a blatant rage. "Either let us _both_ go, or be killed."

" _Us_ be killed?" the man asked with amusement. "You're going to kill us?"

"You can either try and kill _him_ ," Lydia motioned, obviously meaning Brom. "Or you could let us both go. But I warn you – pick the first option, and I won't spare any of you."

"I believe you," the khajiit hastily added. "You're certainly – a different type of warrior we usually encounter."

Brom smirked angrily. "That's because she's the - "

"Hush," Lydia cut him off.

The khajiit paced around, looking at them both – the smile never leaving his face. None of his comrades appeared to do anything else, smiling profoundly at the entire scene.

"I have a better idea, and it's the one I have been proposing since the beginning," the man finally broke out, looking at Brom with a delighted enthusiasm. "Let us part ways on a good note – ask your boy to try our fish."

Brom rolled his tongue in his cheek, trying to think of a curse word offensive enough to use against him.

"Go kill yourself," he suggested, mimicking the man's fake smile all too well. "You cheap, ugly-looking sabercat knock-off."

"BROM!"

Lydia's voice had unexpectedly become angry, but again Brom avoided caring – and looking at her face.

"Please, so we can part on good terms," the khajiit suggested again, moving closer to Brom with Sot's dried finger. "Here, I can feed you."

Brom gathered his saliva in his mouth, and spit with great intensity.

"Brom please..."

"Shut it Lydia," Brom demanded. "I'd rather die."

The khajiit wiped the spit off, but the smile remained. His mouth gently opened, showing a perfect set of well-groomed, but inarguably blood-stained teeth.

"You'll like it, trust me," the man mentioned, grasping Brom's neck painfully enough downward to force him to obey. "Here, try some roasted salmon."

Brom could agonizingly see the finger draw nearer, and the smile grow more fierce. The man's eyes were cold and merciless, and he kicked out against him – unable to use his arms, preoccupied with keeping the man's hand from crushing his windpipe.

It was pointless. The finger was brushing against his firmly shut, and rolled inward lips. The man tighened the grip, nearly suffocating the slender neck. He pinched Brom's nostrils shut with tremendous force, keeping the finger positioned in front of his mouth.

"Either eat such a fine fish," the man grunted. "Or die."

Brom was fine with dying. But at this point, he couldn't hold back his body from acting against his will – with the its nostrils disabled, it was desperately trying to be stay alive, find a source of air – while he was eager to end it all.

And the lips parted, and the mouth shakily pursed open.

The opening was small, but enough.

Brom stopped struggling immediately as the finger was forced through, every single shred of disgust coming back to haunt him all at once. He tried to avoid gathering any taste or texture from it, merely letting it sit in his mouth while the man forced it deeper inside.

"That's it... little fishy..." the man began, laughing lightly as the pressure intensified.

Brom wriggled out of his grip, just as the finger hit his tongue. He choked and coughed it out, the part landing somewhere close to the man's feet. Brom was laying on his knees, on the cold grass- while the khajiit around him lightly chuckled.

"THAT'S ALL RIGHT MY BOY!" the man suddenly boomed. "FISH IS AN ACQUIRED TASTE, AFTER ALL!"

Brom coughed some more, seeing Lydia's feet but not the rest of her – even though he wanted to.

The finger once again was shoved back into his mouth, this time with enough force to completely open his jaw, and soon the part was inside him – and the khajiit hastily shut his mouth with a thick palm.

"Chew," the man commanded.

Brom brought his teeth down, forcing every natural impulse back into his head as the flesh and degraded bone sheared in half, flesh and muscle mixing into varying amounts of disgust – Brom tried his best to avoid tasting it, but the smell was so strong... it was almost filling him –

"Keep going," the khajiit encouaged. "Fish is a great food to have once in a while – but a bit chewy to be perfectly honest."

Every bite was torture. Every sensation felt wrong, as if he was actively murdering his mind and tasting a foul, pungent thing – something unnatural, a twisted force...

Most of it was gone, sitting in clumps at the back of his throat. Brom looked at the khajiit pleadingly, almost opening his mouth to beg.

"Well swallow it," the man simply stated. "Can't do you any good if it doesn't get into your stomach!"

The smile was like being slashed with a dagger. The entire gulping motion was like a warhammer being brought to his head. The encouragement at the end killed some part of him, some section of himself Brom never knew existed.

"Well done little fishy!"

Brom couldn't speak, but turned back naturally to Lydia. She was watching him from a standing position, no anger in her face. She seemed remorseful. He wanted to run to her.

"See?" the man broke in, painfully turning Brom's face back to see his smile once more. "Wasn't that bad, was it?"

The man's hand, thick and wooly, fumbled with the strings of Brom's leggings, bending the fabric lightly backward to allow two furry fingers passageway below his waist, gingerly brushing against skin that hadn't been touched like that before.

Brom screamed, perhaps more instinctual than learned, and jolted back.

No.

Not that.

There were things that no one was capable of doing.

Not even this.

It was too much.

"Apologies, I get a bit zealous sometimes," the man admitted, standing up to look down at Brom. "Maybe next time. But until then, tell me – did you like the taste of the fish?"

He couldn't. He shouldn't. Brom didn't want to say anything.

He made his way to Lydia, looking at her face with a resolute confidence. She seemed broken in some way.

"Did you like the taste my boy?"

Brom let his head tilt down, grabbing her by the elbow and walked away from the direction of Markarth – and the man. The khajiit men broke their circle, lightly opening to allow them both out of the group. Brom felt their hands pat him on the back.

"Wasn't the taste marvelous?"

"Good job kid!"

"Well done my boy!"

Brom tightened his grip on Lydia. He made sure they were leaving in a direction away from Markarth once again. He spotted a mountain range in the distance, heading towards it – nostalgia hitting him in waves.

She wasn't saying anything to him. He didn't mind. He would process everything later. If there's one thing she had taught him – it was to keep moving forward, regardless of whatever was happening.

"Was it well-cooked?"

Not for glory.

"Was the seasoning good?"

Not to be a warrior.

"Fishy fishy, don't be so pissy..."

But to keep breathing.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _... in retrospect, great idea to put the disclaimer._

 _Anyways, I'm not saying every chapter will be in this dark of a tone – but I've actively tried to shift away from the happier, lighter mood in the first Act, and present a more "realistic" but still "dark" portion of Skyrim – after all, once you really think about it – it was a truly frightening place, especially if you were young or inexperienced. Crazy people would likely be plentiful in Skyrim..._

 _Very excited to write more. I'm working on some experimental writing tweaks too. It's amazing how much the story plan has changed for me, after every chapter I write – then I have to go "Oh wait, this works better, I should focus on this theme more..."_

 _Just like to say now, writing fanfiction is probably one of the most creative things to do. I love reading other stories too, so if ya want me to check something out, feel free to PM._

 _I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	20. Broken and Fixed

**Broken and Fixed**

* * *

He wasn't sure exactly how long he had walked with Lydia in tow, but the cold and the tumultuous beds of grass didn't seem to bother him as much as they had done before. For now, most of the wind was pleasantly avoiding them, hitting slopes of rock to their sides. Thick snow had begun clogging Brom's footsteps, and he was sure that they were gradually elevating up a mountain rather than hitting a particularly cold area. He wasn't even sure if Solitude was in this direction or not.

"Look," Lydia sounded off behind him, nudging him slightly. "Karthwesten."

Brom didn't understand the name, but focused his gaze on a small wooden post standing defiantly against the wind – with tiny black letters, spelling _Karthwesten_.

"Is that a Hold?" Brom asked.

"More like a small village," Lydia corrected. "We should stay there for a night and really think about what we're doing."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Brom began irritably. He knew he was letting an emotional side of him take over, but could care less how he sounded.

"It means we don't have a plan at all," Lydia calmly responded, shivering slightly as her improvised wooden armor had begun to chip away. "Where are we going? _Solitude?_ "

Brom snarled. "Yes, obviously."

She chuckled lightly, but stopped as he sneered some more. "Doesn't seem that obvious to me."

"Well that was the plan, right?"

His tone was so inflected with hatred that Brom almost wanted to kick himself for saying it. But Lydia's face only grew with understanding.

"Okay," she smoothly defused. "Sure. But can we at least think a little more on it when we get to Karthwesten?"

"Fine," Brom spat, a bit frustrated at being forced to calm himself down. He started a pace away from her, again moving up the mountain.

"Brom."

He turned around, anxious to allow his anger to overwhelm him once more. "What?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He bit his lips and glared at her, completely focused on injecting enough apathy in his voice.

"No."

The sympathy in her face was still present. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it.

"Okay."

"And don't ask me about it. Ever again."

Brom wanted to kill himself. His words were so stupid, so needlessly cruel to deliver – especially with how gentle she was being.

Lydia smiled, eyes filled with genuine understanding.

"Okay."

The speech was soft, almost too soft to bear thinking about any more.

"We have to keep moving," Brom lied, making his way up the mountain. He had to keep his completely unreasonable anger. If he loosened himself even slightly, he would end up embarrassing himself again.

"Okay."

But a small part of him – a segment well-hidden from her insightful and prying gaze – eased anyways.

 **. . .**

"Brom."

"I thought I told you before, I don't want to talk about - "

"Your hands."

He looked down, fingers wildly shivering – in stark contrast to the rest of his body, which was perfectly still.

"Are you cold?"

"No," Brom arrogantly sounded back. "The rest of me isn't shivering."

"Can I take a look?"

Brom measured these words. He made sure she wasn't going to sympathize for him, or try to gauge his mental state. He needed confirmation that she wouldn't try to do anything other than evaluate his shivering.

"Sure."

Lydia seemed grateful for it, but first motioned towards a nearby cave cut into the side of the mountain, a seemingly warm crevice untouched by the snow.

"You mind if we warm ourselves a bit?" she asked, again with the same hesitating genuineness Brom had seen before. "That would throw out my theory of you being cold."

He followed her inside the warm cave, satisfied at how well the rock was insulating them. It was deep as well, allowing Brom to snuggle next to a nook in the stone, adjusting his frame for maximum heat retention. Lydia sat down in front of him.

He could see her face for clearly for the first time in hours. Her eyes were incredibly fragile, almost pleading – while her mouth and cheeks were emotionless and static – although he suspected she forced them to be so. She was staring patiently at the ground, waiting for him to voluntarily extend his hands.

"I'm sorry," Brom sighed, defeated. He was disappointed to see his hands still shivering. "I was just - "

"Don't," Lydia stopped him, taking his apology as an invitation to push further. "You don't have to talk about it now – if you don't want to."

"I mean," Brom mentioned. "Wouldn't you feel weird to, uh - "

"Yes," she nodded at him, noting his choked voice. "I would. Now give me your hands."

He extended them over, and watching her turn them over in her palms. She scrutinized the skin intensely, squeezing at alternate points to see how it affected him. Brom winced every so often – the burn marks from holding the fire still there, crushed into his skin.

"Might just be something you caught in the air," Lydia hypothesized. "Some illnesses affect only a certain region of the body."

Brom withdrew his hands, rubbing them together in an attempt to ease the shivering. He wasn't sure why it wasn't stopping.

"It's probably nothing, right?" Brom asked, a bit of worry slipping through. "Just some side effect from the fire spell?"

Lydia kept her face emotionless, and Brom found it difficult to read through. "Probably. I hope not."

Brom nodded, feeling somewhat at ease despite her measured response – but more importantly, he decided to use the opportunity to broach something that he was intent on keeping away from Lydia. With the time they had however, before she could urge them both out and into the cold once more – he knew he had to tell her.

"Did you see the – man who was on the ground, while we were in the tree log?"

Lydia perked up, confused by the random question. "Not really. I was too busy dealing with a gang of cannibals, in case you hadn't noticed."

Brom sighed, her sarcasm making the admission worse. "That wasn't any ordinary Redguard."

Lydia's throat visibly tightened, and Brom could see her murmuring the words back to herself.

"Ordinary... Redguard..."

There was a certain degree of animosity that Brom held for himself, despite knowing that this was the right thing to do. It was fruitless however, and just as quickly as he had seen her expression morph from slight amusement to emotionless pondering, he wondered if it had really been worth it.

He had avoided using the name. That would be too much, and probably stir up more memories in her – and he had no experience on how to counsel Lydia. Skulvar's end had practically relieved him – and he couldn't think of a single moment in his life where he actually lost a portion of himself attached to another human being... in a way, he felt more useless to her now, than ever before.

"Thank you for telling me."

The whisper was quiet and urgent, with little to no place for Brom to interpret any reaction from her. Lydia's head was tilted down and away from him, and her hair was covering most of her features. Her lips, trembling but resolute, were visible.

"I'm sorry," Brom tried, pathetically. "I - "

He trailed off. At this point it wouldn't matter what he would say. She seemed to know this.

"Let's go."

Lydia moved up, walking out of the cave without any indication for him to follow. Her voice was tinged with great restraint – but also slight coldness. Brom wasn't sure why.

"Did I say something?" he attempted, stopping her in her tracks before she exited the cave. "Lydia – if there was any way to stop it, I would have - "

"Yes there was," she cut through, still keeping her back to him. "All you had to do, was open your damn mouth."

He blinked, feeling the pit of his stomach twist uncomfortably. Brom wasn't sure how to respond.

She chuckled, half-turning her head to him, flaring her nostrils. "But I guess you already did that, didn't you?"

Brom had come to associate her voice with a pleasing smoothness of delivery and softness in tone – and these were all still there, but the words had been so harshly given – her back still turned, smirk more malicious than playful, she quietly stepped out of the cave, not bothering to check whether he was following her.

 **. . .**

It was daytime – or as well as Brom could see, the sun was rising at the least. The walk up the mountain was incredibly uneventful, long stretches of silence between them being broken by the occasional icicle breaking off a ledge, or a wolf pup streaking through the blanket of white snow. The incline itself wasn't as hard as Brom had expected, and for the most part they were traveling in the correct direction, to He had asked Lydia only once, and was met by a brief, jerking head nod.

He had not heard of Karthwesten, and by all indications it didn't seem to be a particularly populated village as well. There had been no traces of guard posts or Imperial influence anywhere as far as Brom could see – and even under the unlikely even that the Stormcloaks held Karthwesten under their command, there were no forts or makeshift tents to signal so. Mostly, the road to Karthwesten had not even been a proper path – what with all the cutting through mountainsides. Snow on the other hand, was incredibly popular now – most of the scenery around him was only the stuff spread out over vast slabs of rock and mountain – even the sun seemed somewhat smaller and weaker when competing against the snow: frigid, merciless, but altogether beautiful.

"Lydia?" Brom tried, but knew this was pushing his luck. The snow masked her as she turned around, but her voice was perhaps colder than it.

"What?"

He blinked, pointing out a particularly clustered set of lights in the distance, ridden with snow but undeniably shining.

"Is that Karthwesten?" he asked.

Lydia turned to see where he was pointing, narrowing her eyes before rotating back to him. They were both on level ground now, so only the descent had to be made to get to Karthwesten.

"Appears to be," Lydia stated bluntly. "Guess we have to make our way down the mountain now."

He followed her lead, pressing into the soft trail as it elegantly curved down the slope. The snow was soothing to Brom, covering most of his horizon and blanketing most of the ugly grass they had infested his journey so far – yet, there was also an isolated feeling to be in the middle of it, confused and dazed – walking eternally in a sea of blankness.

 _Garbage philosophy_ , he thought. _No wonder you ended up working stables._

"Lydia," he called out, feeling his hands shake uncontrollably. "I can't stop them. I don't know what's happening to - "

One of his fingers bent inward uncomfortably, slightly twisting out of the joint and making Brom cry out.

"Something's definitely wrong," Brom breathed out, clutching his hand. There waas no pain, but the feeling was so unnerving that he felt instantly uneasy. "How far is Karthwesten?"

Lydia's concern was peeking through, unable to be contained by her previous coldness towards him. With a hesitant but somewhat inquisitive nod, she responded to him.

"Should only be five minutes walk from here," she assuaged him. "Why? Is it urgent?"

"I don't know," Brom mentioned, feeling his fingers completely lose control and wiggle erratically. "I can't – control my right hand."

Lydia walked up to Brom, grasping the fidgeting hand and examined the fingers once more, slapping them away when they became too excited.

"I have an idea," she broke out, immediately seizing a part of his collared garment before tearing it off.

"Hey!" Brom immediately sounded off, offended. "What are you doing?"

"Relax," she stated, wrapping the torn cloth around his quivering fingers – tightly enough to restrict them to small vibrations. "This should numb the feeling for now – until we get to Karthwesten, and I can get some actual potions for once."

Brom understood, and if he had to be frank with himself, the numbing effect worked fairly well – his fingers were still twitching uncontrollably, but there were no discomforting motions anymore. He sighed before following Lydia back down the mountainside.

In the midst of daylight, with a perfect breeze and strong snow propelling his every step – Brom almost wished he was traveling in leisure rather than necessity. Touring Skyrim had been one of his life-long goals ever since he had first come to Whiterun, but these circumstances made sightseeing particularly difficult to do – after all, most of his scenery was quickly overlooked as he was forced to run from a bigger threat, or some impending force. Brom wondered how often the tranquil beauty of the landscape was often overlooked by travelers, idle snow and tall pinewoods passing by in a haze as the goal of reaching a destination blurred out all other objects.

"I was thinking," Brom mentioned, adjusting his pace to keep up with her descent. "Maybe we can tour Skyrim for a while. Relax a bit."

She scoffed at him, and most of her past coldness was slowly evaporating away. "Relax..."

Brom chuckled, leaping ahead of her to look at her straight in the face. "Let's do it then!"

She glared, and the coldness from before had returned unexpectedly.

"Of course for you relaxing is the top priority," Lydia spat. "I actually have people and things to tend to – memories lost."

Brom wished he had avoided going in front of her. Although he knew this conversation was going here eventually, Brom was suspect at what exactly she was upset at him about. Had he made the right decision to tell her? Or was it now that a – _part_ of Sot was inside him, being dige -

 _Stop. Thinking. About. It._

"You should listen to yourself you know," Lydia admitted with a sigh, again avoiding eye contact before moving past him. "Don't worry about me Brom. _You_ 're the one to be worried about."

She had used his name. That was a good sign. Brom pressed his advantage.

"Hmph," he vocalized. "Don't you want me to not dwell on it, or something?"

"Yes," Lydia agreed, again seemingly tired by just talking to him. "But speaking about it – even for a minute – will help you feel better in the long-run. That's a luxury I never had."

"Someone to talk to?" he asked, genuinely but tentatively.

"Yes," Lydia continued. "Someone to talk to."

Brom felt an instinctive response rise up in the center of his throat, but squashed it before he embarrassed himself.

"Oh, and don't say you're the one I can talk to," Lydia again read his mind. "You're different."

Brom felt mildly offended, but this was the first tiny notion of playfulness he had received in hours.

"Different?" he repeated. "How am I different?"

She smiled at him knowingly, a flux of emotions spreading through her face. He felt some mad desire to wink at Lydia and pinch her arm, but also understood this would likely make no sense from his point of view.

 _Impulsive idiot_ , he reproached himself.

"Not really all that impulsive," she broke in, keeping her eyes in front of her.

Brom let his jaw drop, staring at her. "Stop doing that."

"Stop doing what?"

"Reading my face. Predicting my thoughts."

"I don't do that."

"Yes, you do."

"Okay fine, I do."

A pause. He looked at her with a genuinely annoyed face.

"Wait you're agreeing with me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I knew it would annoy you."

"You didn't know that."

"Of course I do. I can predict your thoughts."

 _What a waste of breath,_ Brom noted, prodding ahead of her. The shining beams of light, just illuminating several mining areas despite the heavy torrent of snow, radiated more intensely.

"Not really. It's actually a great use of your breath."

Brom rolled his eyes. "Shut - "

" - up?"

He tackled her taller frame, disappointed to feel her easily outmaneuver and flip him forward, sending him plummeting into the thick snow.

"By the way," she victoriously smirked from above, Brom seeing her form eclipse the sun and most of his vision. The snow was touching his exposed ears. "We've reached a mine. Sign nearby says Sanurach. Come on, there's a bedroll."

Brom wiggled in the snow, finding it too difficult and thick to effectively get out. "Help me, please?"

She turned back, raising an arched eyebrow in mock-concern at him. "Why? Ears getting cold from the snow?"

Brom slapped her extended arm away, angrily stalking off to a bedroll placed multiple feet away, at the entrance of the mine. A small part of him was enjoying every second of this.

Or rather, every part of him was enjoying every second of this.

 **. . .**

"So how long did you know him?"

Lydia shook her head, evidently thinking of an appropriate response to give to Brom.

"Since childhood," she breathed out, sitting in a slouched position against a rock slab jutting out at the entrance. "Too long, really..."

Brom knew that eventually pestering her to talk about Sot would help her through this – and he had managed to deflect all attempts by her to get him to talk about _his_ own... experience.

A small part of him still shuddered – mostly his stomach and mouth. They still felt dirty and miused, almost violated in a sense. But he would be weak later. Right now – he had to serve some use to her.

The weather had mostly darkened – and after a good seven hour nap in the bedroll (which Lydia had gracefully gave up for him), he felt reenergized – despite it being night time now. Lydia had found a particularly comfy space of dirt, her makeshift wooden armor acting as a perfect blanket to insulate herself when pressed into the ground. The night was clear and the stars were visible – nd if weren't for the snow – Brom might have thought he was back in Whiterun.

"You know I don't blame you, right?" she murmured to him, now lying down to his right. "I know you'd do the same if you were in my position."

"I suppose so," Brom agreed, curling further underneath the bedsheet, relaxing his arms outside and behind his head, before shifting them to lean one a forearm with one hand fiddling with her wooden armor. "I don't know. I feel like I'm just being a burden to you – instead of helping."

"Soon you'll be combat-ready, I promise you," she assured him, rolling closer. "And don't forget – I would still be back in that mountain near the Frostfruit Inn – hunting down the Brotherhood if it wasn't for you."

He smiled. He liked it when she mentioned his importance to her, but kept himself from saying it outright.

"My hands are still shaking," he noted with a glum sigh, the cloth she had wrapped around his fingers now loosening. "I really think I'm sick or something."

"Don't worry about it," Lydia breezed past. "It's probably something small."

"And if it isn't?"

"It will be. Trust me."

"I always do."

She smiled, rolling away to look at the stars once again. "You know, I used to study the stars once."

"Really?"

"Really."

"I do too," Brom enthusiastically joined in. "I don't know their names, though – just their shapes and sort of – locations in the sky."

She bit her lips, expecting his question before he even said it. "You want a lesson?"

"Yeah, of course."

"All right," she started. Lydia pointed to a particularly bright star over Brom's eye level, directly in his gaze. "That's called Dohvakiin's star."

Brom's eyes widened his eyes in surprise. "You get your own star?"

"No. I just lied. Did you believe me?"

"Not really."

She puffed out, clearly disappointed.

"What did you mean before," Brom broke in, a thought bugging him for quite a while. "When you said I was _different_?"

"It means what you think it means."

He looked back at her, face finally clearly visible. There was a great propensity for grief in it, but also a slowly working, ever-increasing sense of relief and comfort. His own heart reflected it, and soon the memories from yesterday began gradulally fading from his mind.

" _Everything_ I think it means?" he asked kindly, brimming with excitement.

" _Everything_."

He smiled, and looked back at the star she had fibbed about earlier – oddly shaped, glowing somewhat erratically, but undeniably a warm presence. He grimaced as he saw Lydia smirking, obviously noticing his facial expressions once again.

"Go ahead and say it," Brom sighed, admitting defeat.

"How sweet of you."

"Bugger off."

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Another one down! Hope story's feeling natural so far – and see? Not everything will be super-depressing – but more drama (obviously to come)_

 _You might notice that the last section ended with just two parts – don't worry, there's more parts with that narrative to come! But the way I've planned out the story, certain chapters come before others... but you haven't seen the last of the cannibals..._

 _Trying to get more experimental and make writing better... chapters hopefully should be coming out faster too._

 _I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	21. Night and Day

**Night and Day**

* * *

Karthwesten had come so quickly that for a moment, Brom was sure he was back snuggled into the bedroll near the mine. Lydia had led the way of course, having let him rest for seven hours or so before trekking back away from the barren mine. More intriguingly, Karthwesten seemed to be very close – Brom first spotted the minuscule village in the distance about an hour ago – and now here he was, standing right on a dirt trail covered with impenetrable snow.

As far as Brom could tell, there was no sign of civilization anywhere – and he had looked far away, in all directions – yet the only life that persisted were the odd elk and hostile wolf, if that. Mountains, once fierce and mighty, stood aimlessly in the farthest reaches of his vision – broken images superimposed on stretches of dark clouds overlooking a grassy, snow-laden tundra.

"Hands still shivering?" Lydia asked, perhaps tired from the walk, but perhaps also concerned.

"If you call twitching shivering, then yes," Brom noted, trying to scan the almost uninhabited village for any men or women. "Not badly though."

He was being honest. Most of the shivering had long since subsided and was replaced with a small twitching, every so often bothering his hands when Brom would clench his fists too tightly – but Lydia had chalked this up to the bitter cold rather than anything Brom could have caught.

"Good," she agreed. "Does anyone live here?"

Brom paced around the trail, walking directly into the center of the village. He could count all the buildings on one hand.

"Wasn't this your idea?" Brom inquired, twitching his thumbs in annoyance. "Come to Karthwesten, she said – we can stay there for a while, she said..."

"I didn't expect it to be _empty_ ," Lydia truthfully admitted, kicking a nearby wooden post. "Greetings! Does anyone hear me?"

Lydia's voice was loud and prominent, but it made no difference whatsoever. Her words drifted away from them, rattling through the barren, locked homes and blowing away with the wind.

"I don't understand," Lydia mused. "I knew Karthwesten's a small place, but – no one?"

Brom quickly spotted a ladder leaning against one of the homes, apparently cracked from disuse. With a deft hop, he made his way to the top of the rungs, climbing onto the roof before overlooking the remainder of the buildings.

Karthwesten, even if it was filled with people, likely wouldn't be anything that Brom or Lydia could possibly stay in for long – there were no distinctively colored signs that usually signaled the presence of an Inn, homes were cramped and discolored, and the only accessible source of information were several scrolls nailed to most wooden poles – usually advertising mining opportunities and recent hauls.

"Seems to me like a just a mining village," Brom called from above, acquiring Lydia's attention. "Probably just where those miners holed up after a day of work."

"That makes sense," Lydia agreed. "This doesn't look like a place where people usually live. Jobs – especially mining – could be seasonal."

Brom hastily leaped down from the roof, landing squarely on his feet before rolling over onto his back and onto his feet once more.

"Nice," Lydia complimented, seeming genuinely surprised for once. "Where'd you learn that?"

"I'd um," Brom began, shame flushing in conjuction with memory. "Well I'd have to – acquire food sometimes – food I couldn't really afford."

"Ah," Lydia nodded, appearing to understand. "Street life, is it?"

He chuckled. "If you could call it life."

She smiled sympathetically, then walked over to a nearby home, sturdily constructed with two floors – but no apparent maintenance, wooden chippings every so often gently floating down to reach the ground. Brom immediately noticed any lack of lock on the door, and worse – Lydia gently grasping the handle, then pushing forward.

"Wait," Brom secretly forced, grabbing her hand away. "Shouldn't we check to see if anyone's inside first?"

Lydia rolled her eyes at him. She impatiently slapped the face of the door briskly, keeping the same dumb-looking expression to further annoy Brom.

No sound came.

"I think by the grace of Talos," Lydia started, smile almost bursting from her mock-frown. "We'll be okay."

"Still," Brom pressed, again preventing her from pushing the door open. "It's not right. We should wait until someone comes around. It's their home, right?"

Lydia sighed, rubbing tired fingers over her face and now almost broken wooden armor, before suddenly straightening her posture.

"You're absolutely right Brom," she announced with great formality, perhaps even a bit of gusto. "It is wrong for the Dragonborn to hold herself to such low standards."

Brom blinked, completely taken aback by her response.

Without a moment's notice, she grabbed the edge of his heavy garment, shoving him towards the door and naturally – from the weight of her push – it gave way, Brom stumbling for balance before righting himself, displeased to see an empty, darkened room with a few crates and a staircase leading upwards.

"Lydia!"

"How dare you," she fired back, moving close enough to him to almost bump heads. "How dare you trespass on another's property? Have you no honor?"

"Lydia..."

"Dirty, rotten scoundrel you are..."

"Lydia!"

"Peasants these days..."

Brom shook angrily, for a moment thinking of tackling her and shoving her out of the room, then lock the door – then perhaps, he could scream his frustration at the walls.

"Well, you're lucky I am not surrendering you to the noble guards of The Reach!" she yelled, taking on an almost cartoonishly rigid saluting position, staring randomly off into the horizon. "For Skyrim! For glory! For old fat Nords the world over!"

Brom had to prevent himself from guffawing, forcibly biting his lips shut.

"Come kinsman!" Lydia roared fakely, slapping Brom harshly on the shoulder. "Let us forage for things in this most noble Nordic home!"

Brom allowed an insane laugh to burst out, completely unable to contain himself.

"Thank you," Lydia finally went, pleased to see his response. "See? I can make good jokes too."

"Not that," Brom breathed out, just barely stopping himself from devolving into fits. "You reminded me of somone I knew back in Whiterun, that's all."

Lydia's ears perked up, almost like a bunny's. "Who?"

Brom kept laughing, imagining Lydia's frame thicken and height increase.

"Brom, who?"

 _Come kinsman... what a memory..._

"Brom, who?!"

 _For the Nords indeed..._

"BROM!?"

Her voice was whining and impatient, but he did not bother.

 _I hope he's doing well_ , Brom earnestly thought.

 **. . .**

As it had turned out, Karthwesten was remarkably barrren – not at all surprising considering the horrible cargo the home they had "raided" had supplied – in fact, most of the items were useless. A couple spare water pouches and a few potatoes had comprised most of Lydia's haul, and Brom had found a particularly straight-edged necklace that he shoved into his pockets.

A bigger problem currently was the lack of armor for Lydia. While the garments she had given Brom after leaving Markarth had held up well against the merciless weather, her own improvised wooden suit was tattered and chipped in practically every corner – but hope was present, if a bit primitive.

Brom had stumbled upon a particularly large suit of iron armor inside the home, ripping it off the mannequin and presenting it to Lydia, who accepted with due grace before cracking another joke.

"Pathetic sort of suit of armor, don't you think?" she asked, idly tapping it as she shoved open the door, letting in cool air. "Doesn't even fit me right."

"You're welcome," Brom firmly ended, noting its disproportionate size in relation to the rest of her form. "Besides, at least you finally got rid of that old junk."

Lydia nodded, perhaps ruefully, but stepped on to the porch of the raided home before turning bac k to Brom.

"Look at the stars," she whispered, motioning for his eyes to follow her gaze upwards. "Clear night. Cool too – but too cold."

"Yeah," Brom agreed. "Great night to stargaze."

He was taken by the sheer clarity at which he could see the stellar formations. Giant auroras gently wiggled in the farthest reaches of his vision, green colors spewing forth amidst a torrent of inky darkness – occasionally interrupted by a strongly shining star. He had never made a formal study of the star systems, but every place of each constellation seemed intuitively known – almost as if had been searching for the order in the universe all along, and now it was just reciting it back to him.

"Let's go on the roof," Brom noted, jumping onto the ladder he had used before. "Come on!"

Lydia raised her eyebrows at him, but followed him onto the roof before sitting down beside him.

"I never got a chance to notice how beautiful they are," Lydia mentioned, seemingly remorseful. "Years of fighting on the ground makes you forget what's above."

He couldn't sympathize with her – even if he wanted to. His entire life had been a dream of doing something worthwhile on the ground – and every night he had always looked to and noticed the stars. They were ever-present, not quite friendly but at the same time not hostile either. They seemed purposeful though, aesthetic paradoxes almost placed there for no apparent reason.

"Why don't you point out your favorites to me?"

Brom startled, blinking at her. "What do you mean?"

"Do you know any of their names?" Lydia asked, wrapping her arms around her folded legs. She tilted her head to one side in honest curiosity. "You must know a couple."

Brom dismissed this, smiling depressingly. "Not one. I only know how they look."

He turned back to the beams of light, almost blanked out by the force of the aurora. It was much stronger than any star could possibly glare, yet it also seemed forthcoming in its appearance – some sections of the aurora were dimmer to let some of the starlight through, while other parts almost completely blocked out the rest. The aurora itself had no definable shape, but he was certain it was evoking some nostalgia in him – he had seen it before, yet could not place it...

"Tell me your favorite one then," Lydia asked again, removing the iron helmet before placing it at Brom's feet. "Point me to it."

He smiled at her, a bit excited by her presence. He had expected her to simply move him away from his thinking, but rather – she was adding to it.

"Right now there's nothing prettier than an aurora," Brom denoted. "Don't you think?"

She held his words in her mouth, running them over a few times. "Yes. I'd say so."

Brom sat in silence for a bit. He wanted to continue talking to her, but a part of him also wished he could travel back to Whiterun and sit on the stable roof again – the view was much worse than it was now, but it was safe and secure: he had no bad memories back at Whiterun, no terrifying experiences, and no scars – yet it was ambiguous to say the least. Going back meant security, but here he felt awe – and fear.

"We all have regrets," Lydia chimed in, again frustrating him with her clarivoyance. "Sorry. Felt like it needed to be said."

Brom nodded, keeping his eyes on the aurora.

"What are we going to do?" she asked. "You can't keep putting off this question forever."

"I don't know," Brom truthfully came back.

"Brom..."

"I'm being serious," Brom mentioned. "Back in Markarth – I was just so desperate to get away... to feel like living again..."

"Well, now you know what living in Skyrim is," Lydia dragged. "Misery upon misery."

He felt irked by this, and he wasn't even sure why. He noticed the aurora flare up a bit.

"I don't think so," Brom quietly gestured. "Skyrim to me has always been a beautiful place – I mean I've never seen a - "

"Brom," Lydia cut across him, patronizingly wrapping an around around his shoulders. "You're what – sixteen years... and a half, now?"

"Yeah," Brom agreed, forcibly shrugging her shoulder off. "So?"

"So I would have thought by now, after all this - " Lydia noted. " - you'd maybe stop being so naive about the world."

He wasn't even sure why this kept bothering him. He had found her voice and tone easy to ignore previously, and that was under perhaps extremely stressful conditons – but now they were both at relative, if temporary safety – there was nothing filtering except his own conscience.

"I don't follow," Brom spat, tension rising. He was trying to focus on the aurora but her voice and proximity to him was rendering this impossible.

"I mean, what did you think the world was?" Lydia responded, equally angered. She narrowed her eyes at him, scowling a bit. "Sunshine and puppies, with every race and creature getting along in fields of dandelions?"

"No!" Brom at once resolved loudly. "But, I mean – it's not all chaos and bloodshed and killing people you know!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe," Brom asked acerbically, voice becoming bitingly low. "If you stopped thinking about everything as a target for your sword, maybe you'd appreciate things in life!"

"Oh shut it ya bastard," she spat back, standing up suddenly. "If you'll need me, I'll be somewhere else – actually being a realist."

"Good riddance!" Brom roared, watching her back retreat as she made her way down the ladder and out of his sight, disappearing into the foggy mist. She was out of Karthwesten, stomping off into night as the aurora continued to pulse above him.

"Keep thinking everyone's out to kill you, all right?" Brom yelled pointlessly into the dark night, knowing fully that he was most likely out of her hearing range by now. "See where that gets you!"

Brom's hands started to shiver once more, and the aurora's glow faded imperceptibly – she wouldn't have noticed it, but he immediately did.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Yes it's been too long since I uploaded (Again my excuse: life is unpredictable)... Anyway, new chapter!_

 _I'll continue promising (and failing) to stick to a "new chapter every 2-3 days" vow, but at this point I'm sure it's become a bit of comedic relief for everyone to read :)_

 _In other news, I get the fact that a lot of drama and not much action is occurring, but point is, it's supposed to be that way with the second Act, it's drama/suspense after all ... it isn't an action-filled story (although I'll always include a big chunk to break up boring segments), but I try to write convincingly and interestingly enough that it all seems worthwhile reading anyway._

 _As always, I'd appreciate any support and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	22. Lost (I)

**Lost (I)**

* * *

He would sit there for entire hours on end, idly flicking away pests that would bother him if they came too close – but this proved to be somewhat difficult. Like the flies in Whiterun, these seemed to be coordinated attacks – and were coming largely from unprovoked aggression.

"Bugger off," Brom whispered, swatting at the space by his ears. The flies seemed disconcerted.

He hadn't seen her come back, and the swish of her hair was reason enough to believe that she was probably done with talking to him for a significant period of time. A part of Brom seized with anger, a bit sadistically enthralled to see that detestable, over-sized iron armor disappear from his view – and the other part of him, the tiny space dividing anger and desire, was actively making him uneasy.

For Brom's part, he had remained rocking back and forth on the roof for a few hours, watching the aurora brighten, fade, then brighten once again in rhythmic movement. He wasn't entirely sure what he was getting out of it, but it served as a good enough distraction so that his consciousness – as childish and naive as it was – maybe thought if he stared hard enough, eventually he could forget everything and Lydia would magically appear back and apologize.

They had fought before. He had broken down in front of her before.

 _Surely there's nothing I do that can actually offend her_ , Brom mused. _Maybe she's still upset over Sot?_

He had thought she felt better about that after seeing the aurora with him. That same playful kindness came back – or at least it _did_ come back, before she stomped off into the mist. But there was that unquestionable genuineness that Brom had always seen before – he thought it was significant, and a sign that he could speak freely again. For what he thought, Lydia seemed to be mostly healed from anything that might have been holding her back – and from what he understood about her, she wasn't the one to be tied down permanently to broken memories.

Brom clenched his fists hard, trying to stop the incessant shivering.

"Damn it," he mumbled under his breath, rubbing his palms together – despite feeling warm. "Come on..."

The shiver had been bothering him for at least thirty minutes now, and no matter how forcefully he shoved it underneath any crook of flesh in his body, the brutalized fingers continued to twist and contort randomly – which worried him.

Sometimes he could still taste it. Feel the nail entering his throat. Allow the smell of burnt finger flesh to collapse into his nose.

 _Idiot_ , Brom rebuked himself. _Stop_.

It would come and go suddenly, and usually when his hands began shivering. There was nothing he could do to block out the image of that chomping, the gnashing of his own little white teeth, struggling to break down a type of meat that was clearly not intended for eating by other human beings.

Oddly enough, he could never remember the Khajiit's face whenever this happened. The only thing that Brom could think of was the finger, all the motions associated with that horrible finger, all the chewing and straining that went with that despised piece of flesh – he almost wanted to hate Sot for it, wanted to kill him again, just to show him what he had experienced.

 _Stop_.

And he listened to himself, not really because it was the right thing to do – but more because it was the _only_ thing he could do.

"BROM! BROM!"

His first instinct was to perk up and scream a response, something emotional and hurt right back at that feminine tone – but Brom decided to compose himself, shutting his mouth for several seconds to allow all the emotion to flush out naturally before standing back up and putting on his best smirk.

"Come to apologize eh?" Brom began, cockily shifting one eyebrow at the direction of the noise. "Well step out of the mist and show yourself, if you've got the heart for it."

"BROM! BROM!"

Her voice wasn't coming to him the same way it usually did. It felt static and mechanical, almost like she was deliberately trying to mimic herself.

"Lydia, what in Talos' name are you doing?" Brom repeated, fed up with her usual playfulness. "Come on, get out of the fog – I'm not going down the roof, it's cold on the ground."

"BROM! BROM! COME HERE NOW!"

Brom blinked twice, confused. The mist surrounding Karthwasten was incredibly difficult to see through, and by all indications Lydia didn't sound very hurt at all – so why was she still choosing to remain out of his sight?

"BROM! BROM! COME HERE AND SEE THIS!"

Brom's head twisted a bit in midair, the shiver growing stronger. He placed a weary hand over his fingers before leaping down from the roof, smartly landing on his heels before rolling down as she had taught him some day – he couldn't remember when.

"What?" he called out into the mist, coughing as a portion of it fogged his eyes and forced him to squint a bit. "Lydia, I don't know where you are!"

"BROM! FOLLOW THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!"

Brom took a last glance at the brilliant aurora and the home he had jumped off of. He spun about and ran towards the source of the noise, exiting Karthwasten to once again hit the dirt trail he found himself striding across so often these days.

"LYDIA!"

"BROM! COME HERE!"

Her voice was growing more frantic. Surely by now if she wanted to let him know of something, she would have told him. Lydia wasn't one to keep secrets – especially if some threat was present – and Brom couldn't fathom her being angry enough at him to lead him in circles.

"Lydia! Where are you?"

The mist was rendering most of his vision blind, and Karthwesten had disappeared already. The night wasn't exactly cold, but a dull sort of frigidity ran in the air – it was pleasant at first, but it felt unnatural and still – an impossibly gentle breeze that he had never experienced before.

"BROM! LOOK! I FOUND HIM!"

Brom had to keep himself from vomiting, holding a hand to his mouth before he hastily collapsed to the dirt trail – scampering backwards as the mist continued to close in.

The figure he saw in front of him was not Lydia – but he could not be sure of this. A pair of brown eyes were mounted on a gigantic werewolf's body, the same scarred physique coming back in full force – bits of iron armor were lying around its torso, apparently ripped apart by its transformation.

"Lydia..." Brom gasped, still wandering back as the werewolf stumbled towards him. "What..."

He found it hard to say anything significant. The werewolf's torso was cold and black, with thick ripples of fur intertwined with hanging eyeballs, moving sentiently by their own – random corneas tracking his every movement.

"BROM! I FOUND SOT! HE'S ALIVE!"

He couldn't concentrate on what she – or it – was saying. The mist was so dense now that most of the surrounding landscape was completely stripped of all texture, fuzzy shapes painted lazily across a bluish fog that seemed to compress and tighten every time he moved backwards.

The eyeballs. The werewolf. Her voice. The fog.

"Lydia..."

The werewolf struck out harshly, massive paw connecting and shattering most of Brom's ribs before going straight through his torso. Brom felt a dull pressure beat very erratically before bursting, and stupidly clutched at the hole of crushed flesh, feeling the werewolf's clawed fist shove angrily past more bones and muscle.

"BROM! I FOUND SOME FOOD!"

The werewolf opened its jaw, revealing misshapen craters of teeth before enclosing Brom's head completely.

Abruptly the fog stopped. Brom felt something tear at his neck, and the rest of his body stopped obeying his commands. His eyes fluttered to a close.

 **. . .**

"BROM!"

No voice came.

"BROM!"

Still nothing.

Lydia's heart was beating erratically, distressed by the jerking motions of the figure in front of her. It had taken her only five seconds to quickly realize she had been too harsh to him, and proceeded to walk back – and now here he was, lying in the middle of a ditch and clearly out of control. Initially, she almost hadn't seen him all – that twitching mass laying right on the precipice that lead down into a lengthy river – but his distinctive black hair had all but confirmed his presence.

"Brom!" Lydia tried again, seizing him roughly by the shoulders before clenching tight – enough pressure to cause him significant pain – and hoped for the best. "You're not thinking straight! Listen to me! You're getting - "

Her words only served to aggravate him further. Brom flailed in her grasp, violent fits forcing his limbs to strike Lydia repeatedly across the chest plate, while she was forced to restrain him – pinning his arms to his chest.

"I'm not food... I'm not food..." Brom's breath raggedly came out, eyeballs fluttering rapidly. "Please... don't make me eat another one, please..."

Lydia wasn't finding it difficult to restrain him, but anything he was experiencing currently was far beyond any healing or recuperative spells she could think of. It almost seemed like his mind was stuck somewhere else – as if he was actively sleepwalking through a nightmare.

"No more fish, please no more fish..." Brom cried, tears – voluminous and pearly white, came crashing down his face. Long dark locks fell forward, covering his eyes from her.

Lydia swallowed a bit, preparing herself for what she had to do. There was no use trying to force him to follow her anywhere – perhaps to the nearest occupied settlement – and by the time she would be able to drag him there, the condition might have worsened.

"I can't... I can't..."

His breaths came more loosely now, and the lean torso began to break out into violent, jarring movements – before returning to some steady state of shivering.

"Sorry," she whispered to him, knowing acutely he couldn't hear her.

Lydia leaped behind, letting his arms smack around for a bit before looping her forearms underneath his neck, and squeezed as quickly as she could.

The expected response came. Brom, suddenly noticing the compression on his throat, shrieked in agony before swinging his arms inaccurately behind him – occasionally slapping her on the face or chest, but Lydia remained resolute.

More pressure. He was breathing less now, but was fighting harder than ever before. She knew this was a good sign – he was close.

Even more. His arms stopped moving, but his throat pulsated desperately in her arms – she could feel the last bits of air escape out, leaving nothing but emptiness behind.

With a few gulping sounds, Brom stopped moving.

Immediately she let him go, gently allowing his body to touch the dirt trail. Lydia pressed her ear to the left portion of his chest, distressed to not hear any thumping noises.

But it came. The thumps were weak – but resolute.

In that position, she also felt warm breaths hit the top of her head – another good sign. She crouched next to him carefully, examining for any possible cuts, bruises, or any injuries that could have triggered anything.

"Damn it," Lydia whispered, seeing the ring of purple lines circling his neck. "Shouldn't have pressed down so hard..."

She wished he would look peaceful in that state. Instead, his eyes were glossed over carelessly, and remained open despite his unconscious state – and the pupils were different as well: they had a red ring around them, not quite moving but not quite still either...

Lydia rummaged through her pockets, extracting the trusty map.

She traced her fingers across the faded fabric, quickly tagging Karthwasten. She moved her finger in concetric circles around it, trying to find any settlement that was closeby. She would have ideally preferred a Hold – as they had experienced with Karthwasten, there was no use going somewhere for medical help if no one lived there – but then again, how much longer could he remain in this state?

"Come on," she begged the map, desperately scanning for anything close by. "Please..."

The only places that were around Karthwasten were bandit camps and mysterious towers – none of which were useful for finding anyone suited for medical expertise – except for Markarth.

"Of course..." Lydia grumbled, getting increasingly more anxious as Brom's chest began to heave in pulsing movements.

Lydia groaned, and shoved two arms underneath his neck and behind his knees before forcefully bringing him up.

"Sonofa - " Lydia struggled, surprised by his considerable weight.

She walked slowly on the dirt trail, satisfied that the moonlight was illuminating most of the way for her. Lydia thought about starting a fire spell, but didn't dare to right next to Brom's flammable clothes.

As far as she could see, a signpost near them denoted Markarth in the opposite direction. Lydia double-checked this with her map before beginning a fierce sprint down the trail, taking care to avoid coming even close to the river.

Her lungs strained hard from the additional weight, and she narrowed her vision to incorporate just the trail – if any of those Khajiit had been tracking them, she was leading them both right into their hands.

Lydia ignored this, mind leaping as Brom began to startle.

"Let go of me..." he mumbled, limbs beginning to move once more.

Lydia continued to run, taking a sharp left turn.

"I'll kill you..."

Her ears perked up at this, but she once again forced herself to ignore him.

"LET GO OF ME!"

He was positioned right by her ears, which made everything many times worse. Brom was squirming almost uncontrollably now, constantly attempting to headbutt Lydia while he waited for for his limbs to make contact with her head.

"Stop!" she shouted over him, again remembering painfully how useless talking to him was. "Listen to me! You're going through some kind of - "

"DAMN YOU ALL!"

That stupid black hair, that untidy lump that was so easy to control and grasp – slipped out of her grip as one of Brom's twitching limbs finally made contact with Lydia – right in between the legs.

Lydia reflexively let go of him, bending down in pain as more of Brom's limbs began making contact.

"Brom... stop... hitting... BROM!"

She had to perform the choke hold again – there was no use reasoning with him in his state.

He sprinted away suddenly from her, heading directly for a waterfall leading down to the river – situated several thousands of feet below where she was standing.

Lydia's eyes processed what was happening faster than her mind could. "BROM!"

He was running at full speed – even though she was a faster runner – but even by the time it took Lydia to outstrip him, Brom would have already leaped across the waterfall.

"I'LL KILL YOU ALL!" he roared at the sky, fierce pace taking him only a few paces away from the edge of the waterfall.

"BROM!"

He was near the end of the waterfall, not even prepared to jump as he clearly didn't realize where he was standing.

Lydia started taking leaping steps, just a few arm lengths away from grabbing him.

"TO SOVNGARDE!" Brom screamed, disappearing behind the rock jutting out from the waterfall. "I'LL SLAU - "

The rest of his voice was drowned however, as his face and body vanished from her sight.

Lydia leaped across, feeling cool wind blow past her before feeling an immense force pull her down to the river – she traveled faster and faster, angling her body to reach him – she had to...

Lydia at once pulled his flailing hand, then used her other arm to loop around a segment of rock jutting out – wide enough to hold the weight.

The movement stopped, and Lydia saw both the river and Brom beneath her – they were still at least a thousand feet above the river.

She knew there was no point talking to Brom – still squirming and rolling uncooperatively in her grip – but she definitely knew she could do a Force shout. It would probably drain her for an hour, but it seemed to be the only way of leaving this cliff side. With enough energy, she could propel both of them upwards with enough velocity to make it above the cliff side.

Lydia calmed down, preparing her chest for a shout.

Until _it_ caught her eye.

Brom was holding a dagger in his left hand – sharp and glowing dimly with the moonlight. His arm seemed more focused now – but only because he was making an immense effort to do so. His eyes still pulsated with the red rings, but were now fervently concentrating on the hand keeping him from plunging downward.

"YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!"

Brom forced the dagger into her hand, piercing right through the flesh and muscle, even with such clumsy technique.

"AHHH! BROM!"

He removed the dagger briefly, before once again shoving it right back into her hand.

"BROM! NO!"

The pain was incredible. She tried to concentrate on the Shout.

"DIE!"

Another stab, this time surely chipping a bone or two.

"ROT! THE WHOLE LOT OF YOU!"

She was losing feeling in her hand, and that same, horribly familiar feeling of warm liquid ran down her hand. She couldn't focus her Shout.

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

The pain was unbearable, and even worse – it made her grip unable to remain clenched for much longer. She was sure he had severed multiple tendons by now, and if -

"DEATH UPON YOU!"

\- and it came, without warning.

Her fingers immediately uncoiled and relaxed. There was no feeling that was coming anymore from her hand. Lydia's wrist was leaking profusely. She physically couldn't grip anymore.

But he was already gone, plunging head first into that large mass of blue darkness. Lydia watched him go, seeing that hair swing around wildly for a bit before his entire body spun down rapidly to disappear into that dark blue sheet, ripples forming as he didn't resurface.

The rock supporting her arm had caved in also, but she didn't notice that as much.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Finally some action! Although not in the conventional sense..._

 _New chapters coming! My goal right now is around 50 chapters, so I can comfortably say we're nearing the halfway point. Again, I do a lot of callbacks that are referenced in previous chapters, so if you're wondering "what does this mean?", there's a good chance it's mentioned somewhere before._

 _Or I'm just bad at writing, either one works._

 _As always, I'd appreciate any support and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_

 _P.S: Don't worry about the chapters being re-titled a bit - just felt it was more appropriate story-wise._


	23. Lost (II)

**Lost (II)**

* * *

He was awake. He could see everything clearly. But none of it was.

Brom walked forward, as long as he thought he could. Most of the time it was easy, but suddenly he was forced to stop – and then was allowed to walk again.

It was never because something was in his way. Some sudden desire – a feeling hidden by all the light wafting across his vision – took hold of him and commanded Brom to stand still.

There was nothing recognizable around him. Perhaps that why kept walking – to get away from all the nothing.

He stopped again. A few tears escaped his protrusive eyelids, falling onto – he couldn't see what that was either.

 **. . .**

Lydia caught her breath, sucking in huge quantities of air before coughing out the lake water she had accidentally ingested. Most of it was bitter and salty, but some was surprisingly sweet.

"BROM!"

She still couldn't feel her left hand, and although the bleeding had stopped, her fingers and other methods of grasping, clenching, or otherwise contorting – were lost to her. Lydia scanned around the crashing tidal waves, thunderstorm intensifying above her. His hair was jet-black and smooth – a huge contrast against these sadistic masses of dark blues, endless torrents of undefinable waves harshly pushing her back.

"BROM!"

 **. . .**

He didn't have to stop anymore. Most of Brom's vision was clear – perhaps even exceptionally so.

Aspen trees, thickly constructed and tall, surrounded him with a pleasant sort of warmth. It wasn't exactly reassuring but it felt peaceful and non-coercive; Brom wondered if he could scrape against their trunks for a while.

An unbroken stretch of pale blue sky was laid out above him. He wished he could speak to it.

A guard came quickly, despite Brom not wanting it.

"Oy, to get into Riften you need at least fifty septims as an entrance fee."

Brom blinked, feeling the stature of the guard significantly overwhelm his own. He felt small, but worse yet he felt powerless to reply.

"Do you have fifty coins, runt?"

"No! But - "

Brom cursed himself. He wasn't speaking, but something came out from his body regardless – a weak, whiny voice – a noise seized with fear and regret.

"No 'buts'. If you ain't got fifty, make your way to whatever pisshole you crawled out of."

Brom grew frustrated. He was unable to talk in anything but that stupid, high-pitched voice to the guard. He also intuitively knew that it was all a lie – surely no Hold in Skyrim needed a fee to get into.

"Please! I'll do anything!"

The crisp edges of the aspen trees blurred and hazily eluded Brom's vision, fading away into black nothingness.

"Please!"

The sky remained blue.

"Please!"

He kept staring at it.

 **. . .**

She was drowning.

Or no, she wasn't.

Perhaps she was.

Truthfully, she wasn't sure whether she was or not. Lydia had spotted him nearly thirty seconds ago, his completely still body lazily washing across the waves in tune with the storm – and every time she had attempted to close the distance between them, a new wave would arise and throw her completely off. This forced water into her lungs as Lydia submerged unwillingly and burst up yet again.

It was incredibly dark. It was darker than any sort of night she had experienced before – it was a cold, almost consuming sort of blackness. There was a complete lack of light sources, and the moon seemed to be blanketed by a thick layer of cloud covering that was refusing to allow any illumination through. With no reflections, no light, and nothing but water twisted around rock – Lydia felt, for a few moments, just how easy it was to die.

"Ah – Ah – Ough! Ah - "

She tried to time her breaths before the waves would come – but their patterns were completely uncontrollable; just when it seemed most of their ripples followed each other in a uniform fashion, a complete radical would fly in and decimate any energy she already had.

Lydia wondered often how long she had been drifting, much less how long Brom had been drifting. He was on his back, floating randomly along the riverbank as waves casually dashed the sides of that gentle black head against surrounding ridges of stone and rock. Sometimes he would bleed, and other times nothing. It was worse to watch.

"Ah, ah, ah - "

She dove into the water, shot upwards, and went back under. Lydia felt most of her eye liquid drain as salty water mixed and took residence underneath her brows.

The waves kept moving her effortlessly away from him, then back closer, then away, away – farther than before.

 **. . .**

"I want to go home."

"You don't have a home."

"But - "

"ENOUGH!"

Brom winced immediately and clutched the left side of his face, feeling his entire tiny torso be forced to the ground – more so by the weight of the slap than by anything else.

"IF YOU ASK ME ABOUT HOME AGAIN - "

The man appeared threatening, again much larger than him – and incredibly old. Brom could see how cramped the space was, and caught a brief glimpse of a thin slice of light just peeking from the edge of whatever room he was in. It felt damp and repressed.

"I need to go home! I don't want to be here anymore!"

Brom hated his voice. It was so uncharacteristically high-pitched – almost unnatural for any reasonable impression of his voice that others had done. He felt stupid and naive, and somehow many times more distrustful when he spoke – or at least when the voice spoke. He had never heard it emanate from his own mouth – but some vague part of him, a section undefinable by any sort of body part, always managed to speak in that same pitch.

"Please Master Skulvar – I can't stay here anymore..."

The voice seemed pleading. Brom wished Skulvar would shut him up.

Skulvar stretched his smile as wide as he could – or as wide as Brom could imagine he could – then nothing once more.

Brom felt around the bottom of the floor, fingers casually stumbling on a pair of leather bracers.

 _North Wind_. _Brom_.

 **. . .**

Lydia coughed out a few bursts of water, allowing some air to gratefully travel in. A thunderbolt punched the cliff, briefly shining a beam of light onto Brom. Lydia dove once more underneath the surface and rotated her arms as well as she could.

She was getting closer. She could hear him startle as more waves pulverized his frame against jutting rocks.

If she was able to reach him before a new onslaught of waves came, then there was a fairly good chance she could push them both to the bank – or at the least, onto a shallow part of the river. But here, lying centrally in the midst of the cool expanse of water – she had no idea on how to rescue herself, much less him.

Lydia could almost grab him at this distance. She felt like a marionette at this point, desperately trying to make a straight line before a fresh burst of waves strung her about. If she could just –

More waves. A sprinting tree log caught her on the back of the head, forcibly tearing at her neck on the way out before submerging her once more.

Lydia saw the darkness below. It seemed far away. Her feet were shivering above it. She shot upward.

He was still close. Two feet away.

With a fierce push, Lydia shoved herself onto him, rolling onto her back immediately to make sure he would be able to breathe. His weight was forcing her down, and she was kicking as hard as she could.

"Ah - ah – please..."

Lydia wasn't sure who she was pleading. She thrusted his body upward, struggling to balance his weight and hers along with the exhaustive nature of the waves – none of it seemed to be helping her, and most of the river was idly washing them from side to side. It felt disorienting. It felt helpless. Lightning. She blinked painfully as a burst of light came, the nothing.

She had underestimated how difficult it was to swim with such a heavy, practically dead weight constantly pushing her down. More water filled her nostrils, forcing another cough.

Another thunderbolt. A swish of massive rock. Enormous noises. She instinctively swam away from it.

Pointless. Somehow, she thought it would be.

Lydia felt a powerfully heavy presence sink straight to the bottom of the river, right behind his dragging feet. The ensuing water around them dragged painfully downward, and Lydia lost her grip on him, letting the body waft aimlessly away from her.

She felt a torrent of water smack out her back before another wave laid down neatly on her, pressing further into that cold blue darkness. It felt oddly warm, and reminded her of a blanket.

Lydia coughed and screamed, and perhaps she even tried to use any magic she could remember – not much, but even of that – nothing was particularly useful.

More water. She felt her ribs slowly compress as she sunk deeper into the blue. A vague outline lazily swam a few hundred feet above her, dancing carelessly on the surface of the river. The river was methodically drifting him away – soon out of her vision, then probably off the river, and then she knew everything would be long gone.

A rib gave way. Lydia's back hit the sunken slab of rock. The darkness gently pressed down on her chest, immobilizing her.

She could still see. Lydia felt peaceful here. Above the blue, the only thing that could be seen were those horrible waves – but here was life, joy, and tranquility. She knew it had to be. There was no fear.

Another miniscule cracking noise. Lydia's mouth naturally opened, letting a tiny stream of redness escape. It mixed beautifully with the blue. She wished she could see everything from far away.

She couldn't see the surface anymore. More cracking. Lydia watched that red strain fly away from her, rising to the top and to the embracing warmth of moonlight.

Her chest heaved once or twice – or thrice, she wasn't sure anymore. She was fairly certain she had coughed. Or perhaps not.

It was pitch-dark. Lydia felt at ease – more so than she had ever been before.

 **. . .**

"Interesting, innit?"

He was sitting down. The man next to him felt warm and friendly – if a bit stupid. Brom wanted to ask him something he felt he didn't know.

"Where am I?"

The man stopped staring at him, before looking away. Brom wasn't sure what he was looking at. Everything felt dark. The man had some odd glow to him that Brom hadn't seen before. Brom wished he could be somewhere else.

There was a woman lying in the center of the room – or space, Brom wasn't sure exactly what it was.

She had pale skin mixed with very dark hair. It was lazily floating in front of her. Most of her limbs seemed to be non-functioning. Her right hand looked half-amputated.

Brom felt incredibly uneasy looking at her. He turned back to the man.

"Nords don't ask questions they don't want to know the answers to."

The man's reply seemed to be filled with pride at the word _Nord_ , but other than that it only served to infuriate him. The woman groaned a bit, Brom noticing her chest shift inward subtly.

"Great," Brom sarcastically quipped. "Thanks."

"Eh, doesn't matter anyway," the man responded in a haughty tone. "Who cares where someone is? It's all about where we're going."

Brom accidentally paid attention to the groaning woman. He turned away from her and stared upwards.

"Where am I going?" he asked tentatively.

The man pursed his lips, apparently lost in deep thought.

"Wherever you want to, I'd suppose," he finally replied, his stocky build enunciating the strength of the reply. "Reckon you got any places you'd like to go?"

Brom thought hard. "No. Not really."

He lied. He hadn't thought about that at all.

The woman groaned some more. Brom felt put off by all the noise. She turned her head to see him. Her chest was panting with a fervent, almost regretful beat.

He noted her eyes at once. They were pale-white, unerringly white, almost the color of the palest ghost that he had ever heard stories about.

Brom stood up, slowly backing away. He turned to the man.

"So where do you recommend I should go?"

The man chuckled. "Anywhere. It hardly matters."

Brom agreed – even though it didn't make sense. The woman choked out a few sobbing motions. He fought the urge to look at her.

Brom walked off in the opposite direction, completely lost in the beauty of how dark everything was. Soon the woman and the man disappeared. Then any light in that space disappeared. Then his mind stopped thinking. He watched his hand fade away, leather bracers gradually blur before the letters inscribed became lost – forever, and ever, and ever.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Hope it wasn't too confusing..._

 _So new chapter every three days! (haha so funny haha)._ _I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	24. Lost (III)

**Lost (III)**

* * *

A small part of him was blinking at something – but it was so far away. He had to squint just to see it.

Brom stood as firmly as he could. There was a massive sense of loneliness here, but secretly he wished he could stay rooted to his spot. It felt peaceful and there wasn't any noise.

"Wait a second," he muttered to himself.

Brom looked back at the light.

 **. . .**

Her breaths were heavy and thick, and the previously dense iron chest plate protecting her mostly fractured ribs was cleaved down the middle – some water was dripping on the inner cracks, but Lydia ignored this as she idly wafted down the riverbank.

She had no idea where he was. She had no idea where _she_ was. The sheer pressure from that massive slab of rock against her body had all but rendered her unconscious – yet now here she was, floating gently down a seemingly infinite stream. Something had obviously occurred in order for her to be ejected away from the rock, but she could care less about that factor at the moment. Right now the only sense detectable was a dull, not even piercing pain throb at her insides – limbs and torso being toasted alive by the sunlight.

Sunlight! She had almost forgotten.

It had been hard to keep track of time. The last sensation was that awful, crushing pressure – then nothing. Now, as Lydia idly floated about in weightlessness, she would regain consciousness for a few moments at a time, then slip back into a long and peaceful resting period – before being woken up again.

There was no fog. There was seldom any wind. The sun was blaringly apparent, and right above her – it shone down with a hurried, almost anxious intensity, as if trying to make up for months of lost effect on the surrounding landscape.

Lydia remembered hearing a thick splash of water and a body occasionally bumping into her, but she was so physically disabled that she found it difficult to turn her head one way, much less verify where Brom was. From what she had gathered though, they appeared to be floating more or less in one continuous direction – slowly at times, quickly at others, but then again she never remembered more than a few fleeting glimpses of it all.

 _Damn it,_ she groaned inwardly. The arm Brom had injured was unresponsive, and Lydia felt her other arm ache enormously with every slight motion – a horrible state to be in, especially within a flowing stream of water.

"Come on," she whispered, desperately tilting her head to the sides, trying to focus her vision on anything at all. "Just a little more - "

Then darkness, and peaceful sleep once more.

 **. . .**

"Greetings young traveler, what brings you to Whiterun?"

He was small again. Brom _hated_ being small.

"Please sir," that same squeaky, infuratingly desperate voice came out. "I just need some lodging for a night, that's all – I have the coin to pay for it too."

Brom felt some unease well up as the guard's expression held him with a bit of disdain, but also with a tinge of compassion.

"Perhaps," the guard slowly considered, turning to the wide-framed gates with caution. "I'm sorry for the extra precaution lad, but Skyrim's not a particularly safe place to be these days – one wrong turn could get a man killed, much less a boy."

Brom fully agreed with him, but watched his younger self extract out a tiny coin purse regardless.

"It's all I have sir," he begged, the squeakiness even appearing to annoy the guard. "Please."

The guard let out a hearty laugh, shoving the purse away. "We aren't corrupt scum son, there's no need to bribe us."

Brom let the gratitude in his mind reach his mouth, then thought again before shoving it back into his head.

"But if you're looking for cheap lodging," the guard continued. "Don't go in just yet – the Bannered Mare charges ten septims a night for a half-warm bed."

Bemused, Brom raised his eyebrows.

"You might want to try the fella over in the horse stables," the guard smoothly informed him. "I reckon he's looking for a servant, an understudy of sorts – to help him out."

"You think he'll let me sleep somewhere for free?" Brom asked.

"Reckon he'd have to," the guard answered vaguely.

"What's his name?"

The guard pawed at his chin, laughing for a bit.

 **. . .**

Lydia strained her eyes, knowing fully well how much damage she was doing to her already injured neck.

The riverbank was only a few meters away. If she could just reach out somehow...

Considering how most of her limbs were useless and therefore dead weight, she had no idea as to move closer to the bank without any process of grabbing onto things. The best way to move would be slower, and probably immensely detrimental to her condition, but she had to try.

Lydia rotated her torso to the side, feeling a slight burst of water carry beneath her before a small propulsion pushed her a foot closer to the bank. Lydia groaned, her ribs protesting as the bones twisted more out of place. Another rotation and more water pushed her.

"Oh by the g – "

The bones themselves were not sensitive to pain anymore, but the rest of her body was still loosely wrapped around them – so with every tiny movement against the flow of the waves, the edge of the broken bones seemed to tear at the flesh encasing them – a systematic series of jolts synchronized with each other.

Her body abruptly stopped moving, hard sand slapping her thighs.

"Ah, ah ah - "

The sensation took a while to get used to. Lydia had grown so acclimatized to the constant weightlessness that her first instinct to right herself proved to be useless, as most of her torso was still somewhat unstable.

Lydia moved her barely responsive, uninjured arm, examining it around for any visible signs of breakage.

The arm itself seemed unblemished, but the shoulder seemed so far apart from the joint that it only could be seen as a dislocated limb.

Lydia hastily got to her knees, blowing wet hair out of her face before forcefully lying back down on the arm.

"AHHHH!"

Sharp, pulsing vibrations shook her arm as the socket was pushed back into place. Lydia laid there for a while, whimpers coming out every few seconds as the worst of the pain gradually made its course through her.

She closed her eyes, turning around to look more on the scenery.

She wasn't in any recognizably cold place she had seen before. The environment here was warm and sunny, with fully proud sunshine practically floating through the air. A few idle clouds wafted to their pinnacles of height before disappearing from her vision. Gentle slopes with rolling hills surrounded her, thick bundles of grass littering the ground. Aspen trees, skinny but resiliently tall, stood objectively at her sides.

The stream next to Lydia carried on defiantly.

"Where are you?" she whispered to herself, scanning the now gentle waves for any distinguishable life.

A keeled over body was lying on its back on the other side of the riverbank, wet dark hair covering its face. Several bruises were visible beneath the tattered clothing, with a few fresh cuts barely healing at all.

Lydia exhaled gratefully, closing her eyes to focus herself for a moment.

It seemed as if everything was moving at an unrealistic pace. Her mind had grown so used to the constant sense of anxiety and fear – and now there was this confusing intermediary period, with little place for rational thought. Birds chirped away and small wolf cubs trotted away – and above all, there seemed to be a large, sentient force behind the forest; it was actively engaging with her, speaking through nature, revealing itself through tiny sounds that seemed unnoticeable at first.

She stepped into the river, feeling cool water null any pain in her feet.

"Brom?"

It was a tentative question, and she had said it half-unsure.

The body stirred, shaking off a bit of water clinging to its clothes. A bit of moaning ensued.

"You're aren't going to try to kick me again, are you?" Lydia tried jokingly, frowning immediately as he continued shivering in his place. "Guess I'll have to take that risk."

She made her way across the river. Lydia had hoped that her joke would be enough to rouse him from sleep, but it had truthfully only made her more stressed about his current situation than ever before. Her mind also had yearned that maybe, in a particularly stupid part of her, _Lydia_ herself would feel a bit better after saying it out loud.

"Brom?" she tried again, kneeling by his side, happy to note the lack of a dagger in his hands. "Come on..."

"Lydia?"

Her throat latched onto itself, breath being caught up with her shock.

"Brom?" shaky words came out. "Are you - "

"I'm fine," a small but determined voice came out. He seemed hesitant to say anything more. "I - "

"I don't know where we are," Lydia at once read him. "You went insane after that night in Karthwestan. Acted out and jumped off a waterfall."

"Really?" Brom repeated, blank expression worrying her. "I – I don't remember."

She smiled weakly, forcing the bleeding side of her mouth away from him. He sat up briskly. "How could you? You didn't seem right in the head."

"Yeah," Brom agreed, anxiety now processing. "Lydia – what's going on with me?"

She held his words for a moment, thinking of an adequate response.

"Am I turning into a werewolf?"

"What?" Lydia replied shocked, perhaps even amused. "Of course not. Getting infected isn't _that_ easy."

"Then what's happening?"

She had been mulling this over for a long stretch of time, and as a result most of her worry had gone away.

"You're definitely infected with something," Lydia answered, distressed to see his face quiver in response to her. "But nothing serious, obviously – I mean, you're doing fine now, right?"

"Right," Brom repeated. "Right."

"Then we're good, for now," Lydia replied. "Let's figure out where we are first. Then we'll get you to a healer."

"Can't you do anything?" Brom inquired immediately. "I mean, like a spell or - "

"I can barely keep myself upright," she replied with a pathetic chuckle. "I'd probably pass out if I tried anything more."

"Right..."

"Come on, let's move."

Lydia proceeded ahead of him, happy to see flat grassland in front of her and clear sunlight illuminating the entire Aspen forest. Far too often they had encountered such rugged terrain that it had made traveling an incredible hardship – but here was relative solitude, with no more strangers than flocks of birds and the occasional animal or two.

"What happened to your hand?"

She continued walking, having already prepared a response.

"Cut it on a rock while we were in the river," Lydia smoothly told.

"Did you then try and bash your hand against the rock several times?"

She narrowed her eyes, stopped walking, then raised the injured hand to eye-level.

Lydia suppressed a groan. Brom's dagger had done much more damage than she had thought was possible – fingers were bent out of proportion and stained to the bone with a putrid flesh color, and none of the gaping holes left in her hand seemed to be healing very well. It might as well have gone through a saber cat's mouth and then dragged across a field of swords. She wondered how much of it was permanent.

"It was a big rock," she improvised foolishly. "And it had a lot of edges – sort of tore through a lot of my hand."

"I see."

She didn't bother looking back at his face. She didn't want to be disappointed.

"Lydia?"

 _Damn it_ , Lydia mused. She _knew_ that tone.

"Did we end up here because of me?"

She sighed. "I suppose so."

No response from him. She continued walking forward.

"Thank you."

She stopped again. "For?"

"The truth," he replied simply.

. . .

They were fairly certain they were near Riften. There had been no other area that they could think of that had those distinctive Aspen trees – and judging from the surrounding abandoned guard lookout towers and a few stray horses, it was very likely they were approaching the Hold. The grasslands were starting to flatten out, and most of the animal noises had died down by now. This made no sense when Lydia had looked at the map – from what she could understand, there was no body of water long enough to connect Markarth directly to Riften, and this had also meant that they had likely been drifting for several days. On Lydia's map, Riften was exactly at the opposite end of Skyrim opposed to Markarth.

"How are you still alive?" Lydia asked, trying a failed smirk at him as she stepped over a small hill. "I was able to drink a little water every time I was conscious, but you - "

"I can't remember anything," Brom reminded her. "Maybe I was sort of – half dead?"

"I suppose so," Lydia agreed. "Don't need much water when your heart and lungs barely work, eh?"

She had decided long ago to trivialize all the experiences as much as possible. The more effort she put in to actively talk to him and encourage Brom to process what had happened, the more damage it would likely do – but if she acted like it wasn't a big issue at all, it was very likely that he would follow suit.

"Can't believe you both are still alive."

This voice did not come from Brom. It was far too deep, incredibly strong, but also tinged with a bit of curiosity. Lydia noted the massive figure standing in front of her, clad in fine garments. He appeared to have been sitting right on top of a fallen tree branch before making his way to them. Brom recognized those strong, masculine features instantly.

"I'm sorry Lydia," the enormous man proclaimed. "I should have told you."

Brom watched Lydia's face break out in a fit of shock. The man's powerful frame was shadowing her entire body, as well as Brom's.

"Bok?"

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Yes, the cheesy ending non-withstanding, more chapters to come! (Still remember Bok, right?)_

 _Lots of callbacks!_

 _Trying to make writing more interesting. I don't want to fall into some formula of "Brom/Lydia fight off x things then get injured x times before returning to previous state"..._

 _I know it's a sort of weird place to break off the chapter, but I really want to separate some story events clearly so I don't focus too much on Brom/Lydia... they ARE the main characters, but I feel like the story might not be so interesting if I just talk about two people walking through a forest all the time._

 _Also, I realize the past few chapters might have been sort of confusing and disconnected (I tried to make them so) – I promise to make future things less weird._

 _As always, I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_

 _P.S: So there's a good chance that I might be able to get a new chapter out every 2-3 days from now on... no promises, but – sort of promise? (cue laughter)_


	25. The Road not Taken

**The Road to be Taken**

* * *

Brom thought it was amazing how the weather was actively channeling their emotions.

It had been raining – or rather, it had started raining. Most of the aspen trees had lost their brilliant hues and were replaced with a small, faded ghost of their usual color. Minuscule puddles arose at his feet, displaying his own worn, bloodied face back at him. Some of the animal noises had grown more prominent with the advent of the rain; others had retreated into a variety of caves, nooks, crannies, and a whole manner of moist areas. Brom usually would feel an ongoing sense of depression every time rain had came, but this time the clouds and water seemed nostalgic to him, even peaceful.

And Bok was here too.

"Lydia," the giant Orc tried once more. "We need to talk."

Brom's gaze flashed back to Lydia, who was busy standing in her spot with her mouth slightly agape.

"We thought you had died," Brom managed out, surprise flooding him. He wished it was concern. "Back at Frostfruit."

"Did you?" Bok answered meaninglessly, turning away with an almost ashamed expression.

"Yes," Brom pressed, ignoring Lydia's complete lack of engagement. "We saw blood on a spear and a trail leading out. We figured the Brotherhood might have caught up to you."

"They almost did," Bok corrected, straightening his apparently expensive coat. "I – was very lucky."

Brom nodded. They both turned to Lydia, now staring down at the grass and slowly rubbing at those worn eyebrows.

"You all right?" Bok asked her still frame. "You seem – I don't know."

Her eyes met his.

" - shocked?" Bok finished.

Lydia let out an extravagant sigh.

"Why are you in Riften?" she asked.

Brom was startled. Even though he had quickly discovered how little he had cared about Bok's face, it was interesting to see Lydia casually glaze over his appearance and move forward with an offended tone.

"That's what I need to talk to you about," Bok replied. "Give us a moment, Brom?"

Brom let out a harsh, biting laugh. "Where should I go then? Back onto the riverbank?"

Lydia sneered appreciatively.

"Listen, I don't know what's gotten into you both," Bok angrily spouted back. "But - "

"Shut it," Lydia bit into him.

"Lydia!"

She cackled, turning away from him. Brom watched her kick the water in a nearby puddle for a few moments.

"Can we please talk?" Bok tried again, letting out a recuperative sigh.

Brom watched Bok's face plead for a moment, eyes fixated on Lydia's back. A few birds chirped behind Bok, singing resiliently in the face of rain.

"Fine," she eventually agreed. "Whatever you say, _friend_."

The last word was delivered with so much vicious cynicism that Brom felt a bit offended just hearing it. Bok looked devastated, but he nodded slowly and beckoned for Lydia to follow him.

"I have a place not too far from here," Bok mentioned. "It's closeby to the Hold. We can talk more there – and on the way there, as well."

Bok proceeded in tandem to Lydia, turning back suddenly in disapproval as Brom followed.

"It's sort of a private conversation kid," Bok threatened mildly. "Mind standing back a bit? Obviously you can come with us – just not close enough to hear what we're saying."

 _Kid. Obviously you can come,_ Brom quipped inside himself. _As if he decides everything now._

"Lydia?" Brom darted to her face for confirmation, disappointed as she offered an agreeing, but sympathetic nod.

"Hey kid," Bok interrupted. "Stop moving your hands so much."

Brom inwardly gulped. He crossed the quaking palms over themslves, rubbing smoothly despite the anxiety. _It_ was coming back.

"What are you cold or something?"

Brom held the massive Orc's gaze, anger welling up. "No."

"Then?"

"It's private," Brom finished, congratulating himself on the quip.

"Brat..."

Brom was satisfied to see Lydia elbow Bok hard in the stomach.

 **. . .**

Brom wasn't entirely sure why Lydia or himself were being so antagonistic towards Bok, and the ensuing fifteen minutes of walking that had elapsed had only further confused him. Logically speaking, Bok's reappearance should have left Lydia jumping for joy, and Brom – unaffected. He wasn't really close with the Orc to begin with, but surely Lydia might have expressed something more than just – disdain wrapped in aloofness?

He had been carefully studying every few moments of their conversation, despite being well out of earshot and now drenched in rain. Bok on one hand seemed to gesticulate greatly towards Lydia, offering a stumbled profusion of apologies and gentle reassurances – and Lydia in turn, kept walking forward. Her complete apathy towards what he was saying almost made it seem like she was talking to no one at all – but this didn't discourage Bok from trying to appear existent as well.

His hands would shiver every odd moment or so, and by now he found it very difficult to repress them. There were no diseases that he could think of in Skyrim that could leave him with such a condition for weeks, and Brom was fairly certain that the shivering was getting progressively stronger.

"Lydia!" Brom shouted over the rainfall.

The pair stopped, Bok immediately looking back with a shred of disappointment.

"What _is_ it boy?" Bok queried, condescendingly frowning.

"He called for me you moron," Lydia spat at him, walking back immediately to Brom's side. "Don't worry I'm not telling him anything!"

This seemed to be enough for Bok, who took brief refuge underneath a nearby tree.

"What?" Lydia asked kindly, maybe even a bit cheerful to be pulled away from the Orc. "Something wrong?"

"I have to go to Riften first," Brom started. "I have to get this hand thing – investigated, by someone who has experience with medicine..."

"Gonna leave me all alone with that buffoon eh?" Lydia smiled sadly, looking back to growl at Bok.

"Why are you so mad at him?" Brom blurted out. "I thought you'd be happy, or jumping up and down, or - "

He paused, thinking of another adjective. Lydia remained emotionless.

" - I don't know. The last thing I would think of, is you being angry, that's all."

"I'm not angry," Lydia calmly measured.

"Right," Brom sighed. "And I'm actually a prostitute in disguise."

This made her chuckle out loud, concerning Bok.

"I'm not telling him anything!" Lydia roared back at the troublesome Orc, who shook his head with disapproval. "Moron."

Brom smiled, but made sure to keep her gaze from moving away.

"Is it really that bad?" Lydia inquired, avoiding eye contact.

"Yes," Brom repeated. "The shivering is getting worse. I doubt whatever I had went away."

"And you're sure it's not the weather?" Lydia asked hopefully. "It _is_ raining rather hard."

He had already thought about this. However, his hand had been shaking nonstop ever since she had first pulled him out of that stupid riverbank, and most of the effort he had been making to repair the damage was not helping at all. The hand remained moving, resistant to any attempt at stillness.

"No," Brom replied finally, noting Lydia's own shivering as the rain drenched her long hair. "It's been doing it for a while. Before the rain. Bok!"

The lumbering Orc skipped quickly to Brom's side, delighted to be included in the conversation again.

"Are we close to Riften now?" Brom asked.

Bok scratched at his temple, confused at the sudden need for information.

"I suppose so," the Orc managed. "But didn't you want to accompany us to my house first?"

Lydia pouted, seemingly angered at having remembered that Bok was here.

"No," Brom cut across. "I changed my mind. I'm going to Riften first."

Bok shrugged his massive shoulders. "Fine by me. It's about a good twenty minutes from here. Follow the dirt trail between the trees."

The Orc pointed it out for Brom, highlighting a thin patch of mud extending to Brom's left.

"Just follow the mud and you'll get there in no time at all," Bok affirmed.

"Thanks," Brom responded, frustrated by another twitch in his fingers.

Lydia turned hastily towards Brom, expression nervous and reluctant. "Don't do anything - "

" - stupid," Brom predicted. "I know."

"And the second you see any trouble, you come find us, right?"

"Right."

"Want my dagger?"

Brom eyed the shining blade for a while, observing his reflection.

"No, it's okay."

"Take it."

"But - "

"Just take it."

Brom sighed, pulling the dagger from her open palm before turning away and following the dirt trail. He thought about looking back, but decided against it. His mind knew it would be too significant, too raw - for the first time in what seemed to be an eternity, Brom could walk alone, to wherever he wanted to go.

He kept his pace steady and controlled, aiming to eventually disappear from their sight. With a couple of jumps over some hilly sections, and shrouded by the thick layers of Aspen - Brom was sure he was mostly invisible.

He had deliberately kept their conversation short. There wasn't any justifiable reason he could think of as to why he had not brought up any mention of the "dreams" he had encountered the past few nights - and considering how discerning Lydia was, talking about it would probably make the both of them more anxious than anything else.

The Aspens began to follow a regular pattern, framing the dirt trail and line of puddles as the rainfall continued to beat down on him, masking most of the sunlight. A thin trail of footsteps lay encrusted in mud ahead of Brom.

"Good sign," he whispered to himself, twirling the dagger around in his palm.

Perhaps it was some remnant of foolish naivete or maybe childish enthusiasm that was still actively trying to persuade him to stay longer with her. He had spent the past fifteen minutes poring over this, with really only one obvious conclusion.

It was all pointless.

It was pointless of him to try and reason what had been happening. It was pointless to try and seek any sort of adventure she seemed to embody. It had been _pointless_ of him to accompany her group with Skulvar, it had been _pointless_ to stick around in the cave by Frostfruit, it had been _pointless_ to stick around after Markarth - and now, finally, he was doing the right thing.

Everything had been surface-level. There was nothing about her that he had particularly identified with - and every single action he had taken with her had brought nothing but grief.

 _Whiterun. Stables. Peace._

That was infinitely better. He saw less excitement in years than he had seen in just a day accompanying her, but there was a critical difference - _he_ was still intact.

In Whiterun, he never had broken ribs.

In Whiterun, he never got bruised so badly it hurt to walk.

In Whiterun, he never felt as if he would die every single moment.

But perhaps most scathingly of all, Brom had always thought of Whiterun as this region of perpetual mediocrity - as if all its citizens were simply, _existing_ , rather than _living_. Dragonsreach seemed to be some place of immense success - a haven for the talented and the bold, adventurous heroes who storm the land on their noble quest for freedom, honor…

He could not have been more wrong. Throughout the last six months, the universe was sending him a message so blaringly apparent Brom wondered why he was only understanding it now. Perhaps it was simply all the stillness in the air, quiet Aspen trees rocking branches with the rain, or maybe it was his isolation, but either way...

But he knew why.

Logically, nothing about his series of poor decisions made sense. However, there was this grudging _feeling_ , that incessant _emotion_ , that was comparably much more powerful than anything Brom could think of.

 _With her_.

Of course he wanted to stick around her. There had been so many moments fresh in his memory - but not really, because they weren't moments at all.

They were impressions. Touches. Words. Brown eyes. Hazy things.

He wanted more of those moments. He was so desperate to find anything in the world that made him feel - he shuddered to think of it - _wanted_. It was a new feeling for him.

He had plenty of experience being hated. He had a plethora of moments where he was ignored. Most of his memories were vast in recalling all the brutalized, dejected, isolated experiences.

But not with her. All those feelings felt new and fresh, and they were different - to feel wanted was different. It had to be.

Brom could just make out a the tips of a guard tower and a lantern in the distance. The idle rumblings of a mill became more audible. He knew Riften wasn't very far away. His hands kept twitching, but he suppressed them successfully now.

It had been partially her fault for conning him into it. She had conned him so well, so elaborately - that Brom was deluded enough to think that somehow there were similarities between them. All those fresh memories - in that cramped inn room in Markarth, laying on her stomach, being awoken by brown eyes and jet-black hair, jokes and laughter…

The only reason Brom remembered all these was because he had mistook them to be genuinely connective, as if she was telling him subtly all those times about how similar they were.

But it was a lie. She was the Dragonborn. And he was just Brom.

He wished he could have figured this out earlier.

"Oy," a voice came out from within the guard tower. "What's your business here? Do you have the coin to enter?"

The only task now was to formulate an appropriate, silent exit - the less he would have to talk to her face-to-face, the better - Brom knew how easy it was for his heart to kick out his mind when in her presence.

All of it wasn't her fault - she had discouraged everything from the beginning. And now, he _had_ to relinquish all of those _things_ … all those feelings, smiles, and touches Brom perhaps always knew were doomed from the start.

"Yes," Brom lied, sounding back to the guard.

He was a stable boy, he had _always_ been a stable boy - only now, he had chosen to ride well above his league, and maybe fittingly, could pay the price for such arrogance.

At long last the rainfall stopped, enlightening sunshine just peeking through the thick layers of clouds - they would recede slowly, and perhaps never quite leave - but the light was finally visible to everyone watching. The warmth was immediate, and almost wrenched his entire lungs out his throat - but Brom knew it would leave him in a better state.

In time.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Half-way point! Chapters will take a slight turn of pace from here, and finally we start to expand our universe a bit. Excited to write again! (Also the reason why the chapter's naming system has changed)_

 _~TW_

 _P.S: Here's a great joke: New chapter in three days!_


	26. Words Not Spoken

**Words Not Spoken**

* * *

As she relaxed herself more comfortably into the armchair, Lydia began to stretch out her limbs in a relieved effort to alleviate some of the pent up torsion running through her body. It was extraordinarily comfortable, and if she hadn't known the very owner of the residence, she might have guessed it to be a Jarl, a general in his prime, perhaps even a master priest...

"Want a cup?"

Lydia's eyes flashed to the muscular hand, its fingers carefully extending a comparatively small cup in her direction. She nodded tersely, grabbing the container before downing the contents in one gulp.

"Those are supposed to be sipped," Bok reprimanded, taking a place beside her on a proportionately larger couch. "Drain the thing in one drink, and it'll do horrors to your stomach."

The house itself had seemed relatively plain when Lydia had entered it before, and mostly covered with a black tarp that made it seem almost abandoned from the outside. As soon as Bok had swung open those double doors however, Lydia had to visually readjust to the sudden change in luxury – inside, fine rug layered over well connected driftwood, adjacent to a large space with a private quarters upstairs and several furnishings and draperies inside. It was humbly elegant, but artfully crafted – Bok seemed to take great joy while inside, his face visibly lighting up as soon as they had entered.

"Seems nice," Lydia broke in, adjusting herself more on the armchair. "I can see why you're quitting."

Bok sighed. "We already talked about this a thousand times during the walk here – "

"I know," Lydia interrupted. "I'm not blaming you."

She waited a bit, genuinely interested whether he would take it for sarcasm or not.

"I couldn't risk anything more Lydia," the Orc mentioned. "The fighting. The bloodshed. The constant fear for my life – it simply isn't for me."

She chuckled ruefully. "And Frostfruit was the straw that broke the camel's back, eh?"

He smiled in return. "I suppose so. Seeing Brit skewered on that rod..."

Bok shuddered, eyes blinking rather rapidly before rubbing his hands together.

"I'm sorry," Lydia noted, feeling a wave of guilt storm her. "I – all this time, I just never thought of the way my – adventures, impacted other people."

Bok seemed to be grateful for this admission.

"I get it," Lydia agreed. "I understand why you didn't come back for me. It's okay."

"I thought you were gone for good that time," Bok defended weakly.

She sighed. "Sometimes, I wish I _had_ been."

Bok scratched at his large chin, leaving Lydia alone to press another curiosity of hers.

"So you told me when walking that you hitched a cart here," Lydia began. "But what about Egvir? Did you ever hear word from her? Did she follow you here?"

Bok gulped. "I shouldn't."

Lydia grew annoyed, pinching the armchair with crushing pressure. "But you _will_."

"She doesn't want anyone to know," Bok finished. "Hell, I'm not even sure if _I_ should know."

"Where is she?"

"I don't know."

A pause.

"Really?"

Bok nodded earnestly. "She did follow me – for a time. We met up with each other in some mine close to Riften. She was – different."

Lydia arched her eyebrows up. " _Different_?"

"Yes," Bok continued. "Married, in fact."

Lydia felt the tiny cup slip past her fingertips before moist liquid began to drench the carpet.

"Oh!" she admitted at once, frowning as the brown stain darkened the previously neat white rug. "I'm so sorry, I - "

"I had the same reaction too," Bok mentioned, encouraging her to ignore it. "Except I had a bucket of manure in my hand when she told me."

Lydia laughed, but only for a short period as her injured ribs caught up to her. "You – you worked on a Riften farm to get by? And you've already got this place?"

Bok smiled. "Yes and no. I used to. But I pawned off most of my armor and other – things that we've collected over the years. Fetched me more than enough coin to build this – and some to spare."

A small part of her heart sank when he mentioned the pawning of such sentimental items, but she was determined to seem compassionate in this situation.

"You still work at the farm then?" Lydia inquired.

"It's how I get my meals," Bok cheerfully replied. "Bit of a change from the sword-swinging and head-chopping, eh?"

Lydia nodded. "Yes, I'd say so."

Several moments. The stain on the rug had darkened dramatically, leaving a small patch of brown imperfection in a sea of perfectly white clearness. It seemed obvious and easy to point out.

"Lydia, you need to understand," Bok began, tone serious as he leaned in to gaze into her eyes. "I'm not going back to who I was. I can't go through any of that anymore – so when I heard rumors that the Dragonborn was floating around Skyrim with a kid in tow - "

"You couldn't risk being tempted back under my service," Lydia finished for him. "I know Bok, I know. I understand."

The Orc narrowed his eyes. "Do you?"

"I do," Lydia confidently replied. "I was angry at first – but the more I think about things – I don't know. I'm just grateful you didn't avoid me on sight, to be frank."

"Yes well," Bok continued. "It's the least I could do. We've had some great times together."

Lydia unleashed a broad grin. "Yes, we have."

"And the boy?"

She waited several moments, relishing each memory individually, carefully, _softly –_ before choosing to reply.

"Never left," Lydia stated simply. "Not even when things got to their worst. He's – uh, a bit of a lunatic, to be frank once more."

Bok grinned. "I reckon he looked that way the last time I talked to him. Back in Whiterun, mostly. Had a sort of – animalistic determination. Brave kid."

"More like stupid kid," Lydia quipped, enjoying more memories privately to Bok's amusement.

"So he's definitely not leaving then?"

"No chance," Lydia reassured him. "Kid's got the heart of a Dragon."

"Yes," Bok drawled, turning his head down. "A dragon..."

Lydia understood what he meant at once. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Bok terminated. "You had to tell us something. Dragon in Solitude was a pretty good lie – convinced us all, in fact."

"When did you get the truth?" Lydia immediately followed.

"I sometimes speak to the city guards," Bok answered. "They tell me – some things, rumors mostly... I could piece together the rest."

"I see..."

Bok coughed, looking at the ornaments around his room. "So now what?"

Lydia thought carefully. Other than healing Brom's condition, she found a surprising dearth of tasks to accomplish. Earlier at least there were some groups chasing after them – but now, in the relative security of Riften, there wouldn't be any major criminal activity, aside from the Thieves' Guild at least.

The only thing that seemed to remain was to gather a new group, and go back to being Lydia, Dragonborn of Legend.

 _Dragonborn of Legend_. Lydia repelled the urge to vomit.

"Go back to the way things are, I suppose," Lydia attempted. "Probably find a few companions alongside, then go back to fighting Dragons, trolls, witches..."

Bok let out a presumptuous guffaw, clenching his large stomach in furious aspiration.

"Something funny?" Lydia asked, annoyed.

"Lydia!" Bok stated bluntly. "You love fighting dragons! And trolls!"

"Yes," Lydia sarcastically bit. "Because that's what I do. Go around killing creatures that bother me."

"I didn't mean it like that," Bok backtracked, leaning back on his chair defensively. "You _know_ I didn't."

"I understand," Lydia again admitted. "In the past, I suppose I've always loved a good bloodbath from time to time."

"Some are predisposed to it," Bok justified. "Some are born warriors, some are born kings, some are born poets. It's just the way people live..."

"Right," Lydia agreed, wanting to agree then disagree with him. "What about 'experienced horse riders'?"

Bok took a second to remember this, before he and Lydia simultaneously laughed and another cup splattered itself onto the floor.

"Listen," Bok admitted. "I have to go. Some business to attend to in the Hold."

Lydia felt jarred by this, but repressed it. "Right. Of – course."

Bok felt her disappointment, but resolutely sat up. "And listen Lydia, you can stay as long as you like, but - "

"I'm the Dragonborn," Lydia mentioned with disgust. "I can't live out my life with a normal job – even if it does get me such a nice house like this."

"Any plans?" Bok asked once more. "Specifically, I mean."

Lydia scratched behind the ears, tilting her head down. "I don't know. Maybe head back to Whiterun with Brom. I definitely have to get a new group going – and then it's back to sword-swinging monsters, I suppose."

Bok nodded, turning to leave the home.

"Bok!"

The Orc turned back, surprised.

"You said Egvir is married now," Lydia restated with a sudden interest, just remembering the conversation. "Where do I find - "

"Don't talk to her Lydia," Bok immediately shot down. "Please."

"I wasn't going to try to recru – "

"Lydia," Bok firmly cut across. "I don't care what it's for. Just – please."

She stared at her knees, somewhat hurt. "She – she doesn't even want to see me, anymore?"

"She got out of a lifestyle that just wasn't for her," Bok simply mentioned. "We all did. Well, at least Egvir and myself. Haven't heard from Sot since Frostfruit."

 _Be quiet,_ Lydia advised herself.

"... poor bloke's probably scouring Skyrim, looking for a fight to pick with someone."

 _Stay silent._

"... but I'm sure he was fine, resilient old man he is."

"So are you going to tell where she is?" Lydia broke in, trying desperately to change the subject. "Or not?"

Bok sighed. "Address is in the scroll atop the bookshelf to your right."

Lydia immediately eyed the piece, admiring the golden dragon painted roughly across the edges.

"If you really want to know, it's there."

Bok seemed to regret saying this, but evidently the work he had to do was pressing enough to warrant him leaving immediately afterward. Lydia got up from her chair and started walking towards that shining, golden dragon.

 **. . .**

"So there I was, crushed into this tunnel with nowhere to go..."

"Bollocks!"

"Nonsense!"

"I'm serious... and just when it couldn't get worse, I cut myself and soaked my armor in blood, leaving it on the side of a beach..."

"Brilliant!"

"Thanks. And then I got on a boat and paddled away, and the Brotherhood never saw me again."

Brom took a moment to pause and take a sip of the delicious mead held in his fingers, observing his audience crowd around him like rabid skeevers. It was only around four or five people of perhaps twenty talking in the inn, but Brom resiliently kept on with his story. Most of them seemed amazed.

"And when did all this happen?" a kindly Redguard asked, seated on a stool next to Brom.

"Few months back," Brom answered, taking another sip of mead. "Can't remember precisely."

"Would that have anything to do with the mead in your hand?" a tall Nord woman quipped, eliciting a laugh from the audience.

"Funny..." Brom started, seeing a group of guards gently prod open the heavy door and look at him. "Have to go, ladies and gentlemen! See you all later!"

The crowd seemed disappointed, but Brom couldn't care less. He hastily finished the rest of his mead before pushing past the patrons and tables of irritated customers, joining the guard group before walking out into broad, refreshing sunlight.

Riften, as it were, had many fond memories for him. He had been too young to remember any of it, but with certainty he knew how much joy, pain, isolation, among other emotions lay wrecked in his mind.

The Hold itself seemed to be bustling, but then again – Riften always was. A variety of individuals, some shifty and some glaringly obvious, moved about the central marketplace and to their respective buildings. The city itself made no qualms about gentrification – here, the richest of nobles traded with beggars and panhandlers; so despite its reputation, Brom had always found the city to be oddly homely.

"Had a good drink then?" the guard asked, patting Brom hard on the back. "Little early in my opinion. It's almost noon."

"I told you to come in the morning," Brom reminded the guard. "You made me wait for several hours."

"You were in a sorry state the time I saw you first," the guard answered. "Thought you would have been patched up by now but – I guess not."

"I don't mix well with people," Brom answered truthfully. "Got any new clothes for me?"

The guard scoffed, shaking his head. "Right back to the business we discussed last night, eh?"

"Yes," Brom pressed.

"Follow me then."

Brom left the rest of the guards behind as he followed his query through the marketplace, eventually taking a sharp left to approach a walled off area of the city – banners of golden dragons and a crown lay draped over the entering bricks, and Brom resisted the urge to pass his hand over them as the guard continued his stroll into the elevated building. The courtyard itself immediately identified it as a noble area – the banner on the front of the twin wooden doors confirmed it.

Brom squeezed past the double entrance, immediately recognizing the standard assortment of luxurious tables and twin benches adorning silverware. He followed the guard to the middle of the large room, flanked by several banners and guards keenly watching their actions. A woman, dressed in fine garments and a heavy cloak sat in the central throne, kindly smiling at Brom and the guard as they stopped just short of her.

"Jarl Laila," the guard announced. "Remember last night, I came to you with a tale about a boy searching for work in Riften?"

Brom watched eagerly as the woman surveyed over his ragged appearance, making a clear note of the bloodstains and torn fabric.

"I do," Laila agreed. "What brings you to Riften boy?"

Brom looked back at the guard, who moved out of eye line to allow Brom to look directly at Jarl Laila. He had to choose his words carefully to avoid bringing Lydia into the conversation.

"Been traveling Skyrim for jobs," Brom lied. "I'm sick of all the travel. Trying to settle down."

That was a truth, and Brom had no problem injecting a bit of emotion into it.

"And you choose – Riften, is it?" Laila inquired kindly.

"Yes," Brom repeated. "I've lived here before – when I was a very young child."

"Interesting," Laila answered. "You seem young. Can't your parents support you?"

Brom gulped, looking back at the guard for some random reason – the latter offered him nothing, or at least nothing Brom could tell as he was covered in the Riften uniform.

"I - " Brom began, unsure of what to proceed with. Should he lie again?

"I understand some folk may find it awkward to discuss the past," Laila assured, before hardening her gaze. "But you must understand – we cannot give any form of work to some undocumented child. Any information you can give us?"

There was no use. Against his better judgement, Brom stuck with the truth.

"I grew up in the orphanage," Brom noted. "I don't remember either parent. Raised by a few priests while I was here. When I was seven I left Riften."

Laila seemed to protest at this. "But why? Seven is hardly an age that you could travel Skyrim in..."

"I just - " Brom began, again kicking himself for being so truthful. " - felt so invisible at Riften. Couldn't make friends. Couldn't find family. Needed a fresh start - "

"I am offended by that," Laila interrupted, although a bit of joking slipped through. "The people of Riften are _very_ hospitable."

"Sure," Brom agreed. "But they all have family. They don't seek to make any more – connections, than they already have."

"I can see that happening," Laila agreed. "So why come back here then?"

This was such a legitimate question that Brom had to force down the urge to come clean with the complete truth.

"Couldn't find work anywhere else," Brom lied again.

"So we were your last choice, hmm?" Laila asked, expression unreadable.

 _Idiot_ , Brom mused. _You already ruined everything_.

"Don't be anxious," Laila calmed him down. "I can see why other Holds wouldn't want to employ you – you seem far too young to work anything. But given the gravity of your situation, my guard informing me of how desperate you seemed last night..."

The guard nodded back at Brom.

"... we can certainly employ you."

Brom smiled, watching as the guard resumed control.

"My Jarl," the guard bowed. "If you allow it, I will give this boy some new clothes, just a courtesy – I promised him that last night."

"That's only decent," Laila agreed. "Speaking of which, where did you stay during the night and this morning, boy?"

"In the cellar of a local Inn," Brom quickly responded. "The innkeeper was very kind about it."

"Good, very good..."

With a bow, both Brom and the guard approached a staircase leading down into the basement of the Palace.

 **. . .**

"Thanks," Brom squeezed out, admiring the cut of his new clothes with gratefulness. "I understand how big a favor this is, really... I do."

The guard smiled at him, shaking his head slowly. "Sit down."

Brom returned the smile, admiring the small room's intimacy – the two chairs, a small lantern and a table with assorted parchment and quill hit with a certain nostalgia.

"So, how does this work?" Brom queried.

The man took a moment to shift through a thick stack of papers, narrowing his gradually as the further down he got.

"Full name?" the man asked kindly, still flipping through the stack.

"Brom Ven," Brom replied at once.

"Former occupation?"

"Stable assistant?"

"Master?"

"Master Skulvar."

The man opened his eyes wide, blinking once or twice at Brom. "No wonder you came here - I heard he makes a Daedric Prince look tame."

Brom chuckled. "Yes, he did. Or I mean – does."

He had to be careful to not reveal Skulvar's fate. The guard seemed unusually sharp and discerning, but pleasantly warm regardless.

"Interesting," the guard unassmingly finished. "Your public record is quite short. Unemployed for a time, then a stableboy. Says here that Skulvar rated you as a mediocre assistant."

 _Rotten bastard_ , Brom immediately thought.

"Don't worry," the guard continued, still reading the scroll. "We don't take his comments quite seriously. I'm sure you were just fine."

"Thank you," Brom admitted with gratitude. "I can also cook a fair amount, and hunt small prey if needs be..."

"You're, what - " the guard began, passing an eye over Brom. "Seventeen?"

Brom's first instinct was to corrrect him, but found the difference too small to really be significant. "Yes. Basically."

"Good," the guard started. "The Hold can only hire above a certain age – and you just make the cutoff."

 _Good thing they don't have my date of birth_ , Brom mused.

"We have a need for a couple of jobs," the guard rattled off. "A dedicated bear trapper, and a farmer of wheat."

Brom found two questions spring to his mind immediately. "How big are the bears? And how does Riften not have a dedicated wheat farmer?"

"Gigantic," the guard answered. "And the pay's lousy, so we have to import a good chunk of it – costs us plenty of gold each week in transportation costs."

"Right. Forget the bear trapper thing," Brom began. "How much does the wheat farmer job pay?"

"Fifteen gold a day," the guard began. "About ten times less than what a normal job would pay. Take away a gold coin or two for taxes then, I suppose. We'll give you a small piece of land however."

"That's wonderful," Brom earnestly stated. "I'll take it. Where do I sign?"

"Really?" the guard repeated. "15 gold is too little to rent out any place in Riften – you'd need at least - "

"The Inn is only 10 gold," Brom began. "And obviously as time passes, I can save up – right?"

The guard laughed. "You plan to live in an Inn for several months or so?"

"Yes," Brom pressed, determined. "I worked out with the innkeeper that if I work an hour a day tending tables, I get a free meal."

"Astounding," the guard mentioned. "Resilient, you are – I should let you know, you'll likely be working from dawn until dusk... wheat farming, as I'm sure you know, isn't accomplished in an hour."

Brom knew absolutely nothing about wheat farming. "Yes, of course. I don't mind long hours."

"Also," the guard continued. "I'd just like to clarify that you're becoming an unofficial servant of the Hold, and her Majesty the Jarl."

Brom felt a twinge of excitement hit him. "Meaning?"

"Doesn't really mean anything," the guard reciprocated to Brom's disappointment. "Just letting you know that you'll provide a good fifth of the wheat stores for the Hold – so even though it may not feel particularly important to you, someone will be watching you... testing for – compatability."

Brom nodded.

"Good then," the guard finished. "Sign here please."

Brom grasped a quill sitting nearby, printing his name on the tender scroll to see the ink solidify and start afresh.

"Oh," Brom recently remembered, feeling a tremor start up from his hands once more. "I almost forgot. Is there anyone I could see for – medical issues?"

The guard was puzzled by the sudden, seemingly random question. "Uh, yes. The head priest in a building housing a shrine to Mara. He should be able to help."

Brom nodded, noting the place in his memory.

"What do you have?" the guard asked gently.

"Nothing serious," Brom half-lied.

 _I hope,_ he also lied to himself.

 **. . .**

"This is it."

He was with the guard at the outskirts of Riften once more, ironically not far from the stables. A small patch of land had been isolated and cultivated just behind the walled off Hold, with a small bedroll lying half-submerged in dirt. The area was loosely enclosed by a fence, and a pile of seeds lay in the corner of the patch of land.

"So as I'm sure you know," the guard began. "Wheat takes four months to grow."

"Right," Brom for the hundredth time lied through his teeth.

"But even with that long stretch of time," the guard continued. "You'll have to do work almost everyday. Six days a week, if you're efficient... preplanting, weed killing, removing critters, watering – that should take a good two hours of your day."

"And the rest?" Brom inquired.

"Doing work for us," the guard responded. "Coming to the Hold and helping with our local farmers. Dealing with shipments of wheat and other boring details."

"Wait," Brom began. "I thought I was just being a farmer."

"You are," the guard reiterated. "But because we're on such a tight shortage of wheat, we need all the people we can get for helping out around – food related tasks in the Palace."

"Right..."

"Here's your advance for the first day," the guard hastily mentioned, stuffing a small coin purse into Brom's unsuspecting hands. "You start work tomorrow, sharply at dawn and probably till dusk – maybe even night. Plant your seeds first thing in the morning, and come to the Palace when you're done."

This was obvious information to absorb, but Brom remembered the gist of the differentiating details. "Okay."

"Good luck."

He watched the guard walk off into the distance, the noon sunlight reflecting powerfully off the shiny armor.

Brom sat near the small pile of seeds, flicking them idly between his fingers as the small nodules flew gracefully between the gaps in his knuckles. Riften's evening, even if it was somewhat warm, had a cool breeze mercifully drifting through the air as the sun's descent just began. Brom couldn't quite see the moon yet, but he was assuredly in this liminal state, just as he had always liked – between sunset and night, the most comfortably relaxed part of the day.

The guard had mentioned it only once, but Brom understood how important it was to accomplish the first delivery successfully – initially everyone would start skeptical of his quality, but over time, and with a good reputation...

This had been the easiest part. It had been easy to plan the rest of his days. The deal with the innkeeper (who he still did not know by name) had proved to be fruitful – just an hour of tending tables and Brom was rewarded with a hot bowl of soup. He had relished the taste; it wasn't amazing by any standards, but it was clean, respectable – but more importantly, his.

Brom's fingers flew back to the advance the guard had given him, extracting the brown purse and examining each coin individually as he opened it. It felt oddly satisfying to be owning this amount of coin, even if it couldn't even buy him a room at the Inn. It was still _his_.

He had spent a good portion of the day scouring the marketplace, asking rich merchants to the common beggar as to any area looking for tenants – there were, of course, no vacancies at least for the next few weeks... but more importantly, Brom now knew it cost an average of 200 gold a month to live in Riften, with the additional 200 gold deposit to be paid upfront. There was no chance he could move into the city anytime soon, but perhaps as the business expanded Brom could -

No. He _could_. Assuming he kept at least 10 gold a day from his salary, within six weeks he'd have enough money to start renting, even with the deposit and rent – assuming he worked everyday, and slept on a bedroll near _his_ farm to forgo the costly Inn prices.

 _Great,_ Brom bit.

But that wasn't being fair. He had not expected starting over to be that simple, but now understood the time involved to restart a lifestyle – for about six months he had been trodding randomly across Skyrim, perhaps wasting opportunities that fell right under his nose, so in a sense Brom was contented to spend some time building a new home. He imagined the future vividly, and often with great precision – in a couple months he promised himself to start renting, then perhaps, a home?

"I can't even imagine when that's coming," he whispered to himself, still fingering through the seeds.

From what he had heard, homes in Riften cost a minimum of 5000 gold – an amount so dreadfully high that as soon as a local merchant told Brom, the latter repeated his question twice to make sure the merchant truly understood what he was saying. In fact, 5000 gold was such a large number that Brom wasn't even sure if he could fit all the coins in a bag – but then again he was being stupid. Of _course_ that wasn't how vast amounts of money was stored.

He was getting ahead of himself. He hadn't even made his first delivery, and yet here he was – surmising about the possibility of purchasing a home.

But like his mind had told him endlessly, that was the end of the exciting part.

His hands kept shivering. He had successfully removed it from his mind for most of the day, but now he needed to address it. What was the Temple the guard had mentioned to him? Mara...

That could be done early next morning. He promised himself he would. But right now, more stressful issues plagued him.

He hadn't seen Lydia all day, and he didn't really make any effort to try and find her – despite knowing exactly where Bok's house was. The simple truth was that he wasn't even sure of how to broach the subject to her, much less outright bid farewell and go on his way.

Brom stood up hastily, straightening his shirt and pretending that she was standing in front of him. "Okay, um... hello Lydia, I would like to tell you that – no, no, no..."

He thought harder, trying to approach it from a different angle.

"Greetings Dragonborn, oh no what the hell..."

 _That_ would likely drive her to kill him.

"Listen Lydia, I just can't – no, no that's too aggressive..."

Brom had deliberately avoided thinking about it – a strategy that was working as long as the guard had been talking to him, but left alone, and to the mercy of his own subconscious...

Ultimately, it had to be boiled down to a matter of choice. There _was_ no other option he wanted to do. No matter how she would react, he shouldn't really care. This was his life, and for the first time in many years Brom felt as if there were some cosmic alignment (as stupid as that sounded) that compelled him to start thinking for himself – otherwise, what would he be? A lost puppy idiotically following the wishes of a sword-swinging brute?

Of course it all _made sense_ when Brom _thought_ about it. But he never _felt_ quite right about it – but, as he told himself again, eventually it would all fade away. He didn't trust his own mind to forget, but he knew with certainty that time would.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Extra-long chapter!_

 _Hope the story isn't confusing, I sort of jumped around in time a bit to expedite development... Let me know if something isn't clear!_

 _And yes, rest assured Brom's "health concerns" will definitively be addressed in the next chapter. Not much of a spoiler in my opinion... (I hope)_

 _I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	27. Ways Not Separated

**Ways Not Separated**

* * *

The marketplace had a peculiar center – at least from an outsider's perspective. Most of the panhandlers' yelling was nowhere to be found, although she attributed this to night time rather than any sort of guard interference. A few strays remained behind, diligently watching over Riften from underneath those cloaked helmets, and Lydia had to don a borrowed hood and long coat to avoid staring right into their eyes.

"The stench," she whispered to herself, leaning casually against a nearby wooden pole. "Bok, you filthy mongrel..."

His clothes had been cut to fit her smaller size, but the incorrigible stench had ruined the cool night air that Lydia had found pleasant to enjoy – now the only sensation was this wet dampness overplayed by the faint odor of horse manure.

"Worked in a farm indeed..."

She had stayed back at Bok's home for a while after he had left. Scouring Riften at night time meant two distinct advantages: prominently, there would be much less people to figure out who she was and create a big fuss – and more importantly, she could locate Brom quickly and without distraction.

"Where are you?" Lydia whispered again, tilting the hood more over her face as a guard walked past.

Every time she remembered his shivering hands, that dark mess of black hair – she grew uneasy. He had grown immeasurably since they had first met, but unlike her, he was poorly equipped to deal with any threats coming from the local Hold authorities – after all, who wouldn't be suspicious of a random boy entering the city with not a person connected to him.

But she was.

No, she wasn't.

Lydia's cheeks flushed every time she imagined herself actually providing – what did she provide him with? Protection from physical dangers? A career path into a warrior caste? Or...

 _No_ , Lydia stopped herself internally. _No more thinking_.

She was perfectly capable of doing some more thinking, but she wanted her cheeks to remain neutral.

Lydia walked away from the pole, heading first towards the official Palace courtyard, walled off and appearing distant in her vision. She could find Brom later – besides, she had a good feeling that the Jarl would be able to provide her with at least some basic provisions for the jaunt back to Whiterun, perhaps even a few horses...

Balgruuf would undoubtedly welcome her with open arms. Whiterun was a safe space to rethink, regroup, and continue onward – moreover, this also meant Brom would be comfortable with traveling somewhere in a seemingly infinite amount of time. Lydia also knew that Whiterun, being perhaps the most notable Hold in Skyrim, would allow her to reconnect with all the familiar political faces she had interacted with before this tiny _detour_ to Solitude had taken place.

"Hey! No panhandlers allowed inside!"

Lydia turned an eye up carefully at the offensive guard, realizing she was just about to enter the Palace.

"Even a panhandler as pretty as me?" Lydia asked, removing her head just enough for the guard to gasp in profuse apologies.

"I'm so sor – I mean, my greatest - "

"Shh," Lydia promptly shushed the guard. "Be quiet. I need to talk to your Jarl in privacy."

"But of course!" the guard hastily blubbered out. "Go in, go in! Please, and forgive me, oh mighty - "

"Thanks," Lydia cut the guard off, annoyed.

As soon as she entered the main room and shut the heavy doors behind her, Lydia was surprised to see the relative changes that had occurred since she had last seen the Hold's Palace. Most of the drapery that she was used to was long gone, and was replaced with a very bland, methodically placed, generic symbols of honor and loyalty stretched across thin fabric.

Lydia leaped up the steps, fully removing her hood and bypassing the twin tables adorned with food and silverware. She focused on the central throne, and atop sat a familiar face with her jaw wide open.

"By Talos!" Jarl Laila exclaimed. "Lydia – you look terrible."

"That's a fine greeting," Lydia bit back. "How long has it been – two years?"

"I don't care," Laila quipped back, standing up with completely informal attitude. "I didn't even expect you back around here – in a long time."

"Yes, well," Lydia started, unsure of how to get past the courtesy formalities and go straight to the part where she asked for coin and supplies. "I've been busy."

"That's the understatement of the millennium," Laila joked, scanning over the various bruises and cuts peeking out from Lydia's rags. "And by Talos, what a horrible dress! I thought I told you last time to not interact with these panhandlers..."

"Laila - "

"I know, I know," Laila finished. "You need something. You _always_ need something."

Lydia sighed, feeling a bit of guilt sink in. "Well - "

"Am I correct? You came here to nick some free stuff from me, right?"

"But Lai - "

"Admit it."

"Well - "

"Admit it."

"La - "

"Admit it."

"What are you, twelve? Stop repea - "

"Admit it."

"Yes!" Lydia roared softly, trying to repress most of the volume. "I need two horses and some food!"

Laila began her response with a smile. "I knew it."

"Bugger off."

 **. . .**

Although Lydia had protested immensely to it, Laila seemed insistent on forcing her to get some food inside before speaking any further, much less start talking about the loaned horses and food. They had retreated to her private quarters, a surprisingly modest room with spare furnishings but a relatively comfortable bed adjacent to a small chair and a table. Lydia had tried to use the chair, but Laila had shoved her onto the bed to rest, before promptly pushing a sweet roll into her hands. A fireplace crackled idly in the corner, reminding Lydia of how tired she was. They had been talking long enough for the moon to reach its peak.

"I can't believe you lied to them," Laila broke in, breaking Lydia out of a peaceful snooze.

"I had to," Lydia mentioned. "A dragon in Solitude – and a horseman... it's a bad lie, but I needed to get them there - "

"You were planning to sacrifice the horseman, weren't you?" Laila cut across.

Lydia had been suppressing this memory for so long that it almost took her by surprise when Laila had mentioned it.

"After I was forced to kill Astrid," Lydia shakily stuttered. "The – Brotherhood started hunting my companions and myself. Killed – Killed a few of my team... a few Orcs killed them, right here..."

"That's why you left two years ago, wasn't it?" Laila gently asked, trying not to press harder. "Because you just couldn't..."

"I couldn't stay here anymore," Lydia finished. "Headed back to Whiterun, gathering new people on the way."

Laila turned her head down in respect. "Only to lose most of them on the way. I'm sorry Lydia."

She remained emotionless.

"So why did you want a horseman, of all people?" Laila asked. "And why did you need to lie to everyone about an imaginary dragon in Solitude – when you actually just wanted to sacrifice the man to Boethia for the Brotherhood?"

"No horseman would walk to his own death," Lydia responded with contempt over herself. "I needed a – white lie, to get him past... and Astrid was a servant of Boethia, and a very well-regarded servant at that..."

"So you managed to irk a Daedric Prince, known for requiring human sacrifices?" Laila asked, leaning back into her chair with a judgmental squeak.

Lydia nodded slowly, eyes threatening to water up. She didn't need to keep talking about this – it served no purpose other than reinforcing the constant sense of guilt she was carrying.

"Wait a moment," Laila declared suddenly. "That boy you were telling me about earlier... Brom? Were you planning to sacrifice... him?"

Lydia remained silent, emotions twisting inside of her.

"Lydia?"

She scratched at the sweet roll, closing her eyes for the onslaught she knew was to come.

"Lydia?"

Still more silence.

"LYDIA!"

"NO!" she roared back, making Laila twitch in her chair. Lydia's chest was heaving. "Not – at first."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I said horseman randomly, because I was searching for a man with no connections to anyone," Lydia slowly began. "A human sacrifice that wouldn't be noticed if he were dead – simply because no one cared about him. A man named Skulvar fit my agenda..."

"Right," Laila agreed. "I assume this man had no family."

"Everyone hated him," Lydia spat. " _I_ hated him from the moment he interviewed back at Dragonsreach."

"So how does the boy – Brom – have anything to do with this?"

"He was Skulvar's assistant," Lydia continued. "As it turns out, the _boy_ didn't seem to like me very much either," Lydia recalled with fondness. "He made a big scene and stormed out of the Palace when I was interviewing them both – in the meantime, my former group found an equally hated idiot named Ulundil."

"That arrogant Altmer thief?" Laila returned with disgust. "I hate him."

"As do I. But since we had him to sacrifice and my group captivated with my lie, I thought everything was going smooth - "

"Until?"

Lydia paused, taking another bite of the sweet roll to strengthen herself.

"Until the boy came back to me," Lydia continued sadly. "Hinted that Skulvar had wanted this for a long part of his already long life. Misplaced sense of gratitude, I reckon."

"So?" Laila replied with confusion. "You should have told him no. Told him you already had your – uh, _horseman_."

"I – I couldn't."

Laila narrowed her eyes. "Lydia. We've spoken about this before. You can't let your heart - "

"It wasn't my heart doing the thinking," Lydia hastily defended, trying to fight back.

"That's right," Laila agreed. "Your heart doesn't think. Your _mind_ does. And you listened to the wrong one, my friend."

"He just seemed so desperate," Lydia recalled earnestly. "He seemed – so, fed up with how his life was..."

"Many people are," Laila mentioned in contrast. "Many with far worse lives than your _Brom_."

"He isn't _mine_ ," Lydia stressed, feeling a portion of her mind protest wildly.

"Sure."

"Shut it."

"And let me guess," Laila continued. "Then Frostfruit happened, and there you were – stuck with this boy and nowhere else to go."

"Congratulations," Lydia falsely gave. "You just summarized my life for the last six months."

The fireplace audibly crackled over their silence, squeaking of the floorboards punctuating just exactly how quiet it was – despite Lydia rampant devouring of the sweet roll.

"Lydia," Laila seriously began. "Do you consider me a friend?"

She gave a slow nod, mouth still full of pastry chunks.

"Then listen to me," Laila continued. "I know the boy. From what I could understand, he seemed very - "

"Wait," Lydia interjected, interest piqued. "What do you mean, you _know_ him?"

"If my memory serves me correctly," Laila began. "A boy came yesterday asking for a job. His name was also Brom – and he very much seemed to be short on luck, coin, and clothes. Anyhow, an authority of mine gave him a wheat farmer position."

"Why would he need a job?" Lydia repeated, dazed. "He's with me – I mean, traveling with me. I usually hunt something and then cook it – didn't know my cooking was _that_ horri - "

"It very much seemed that he was trying to live here," Laila mentioned. "Seemed to me that he was going to spend the rest of his days quietly in Riften."

Lydia scoffed. "I don't think we're talking about the same boy."

"Messy dark hair?" Laila tried. "Tallish frame? Sort of skinny, with shivering hands?"

Lydia gulped, crushing the remains of the sweet roll in her hand. "No... why would he need a job?"

"No clue," Laila admitted.

"Where is his farm?"

"Just outside Riften," Laila began. "Near the stables and behind the tallest Aspen tree in sight."

"Near the stables," Lydia repeated with a small grin. "You're just as funny as you were two years ago."

"Nonsense."

"It's true. I remember you funnier."

"I remember you much thinner."

Lydia threw the remains of the sweet roll at Laila.

 **. . .**

"Let me have a look at your hands."

Brom hesitated, but gently extended his fingers in the priest's direction, allowing the shivering to continue unabated by his will.

"I see," the priest divulged, turning over the delicate nail beds. "Interesting..."

The Temple, as it turned out, was scarcely crowded. There were a few "worshippers" sitting close to the central idol, but for the most part Brom had a relative sense of intimacy along with the head priest. Most of the drapery was a dull and faded yellow, with fine red carpets only adding to the sense of immobile peace.

"I'd say you're probably just cold," the priest finished.

Brom sighed, clasping his face in anxiety. Had he really forgone his daily work at the farm just for the priest to say... he was _cold_?

"It's the only possible answer my boy," the priest answered swiftly, noting Brom's discontented appearance. "The only reasonable answer perhaps."

"What is the unreasonable one?" Brom carefully added. He thought about bringing up the cannibals, but assumed it was best to let the priest backtrack and find out for himself.

"Well," the priest began. "Unless you're in the habit of eating rotten skeever corpses..."

Brom's heart fluttered negatively, a uniquely awkward emotion settling. "What do you mean, sir?"

"I'm talking about the possibility of you having Kurdun," the priest elaborated. "It's a disease that causes minor shivering and delusional episodes – "

Brom gasped, chest thumping with emotion.

" - but even that wouldn't persist so long, and I'm sure you haven't eaten any skeever – "

"Is it just in skeevers?" Brom asked with a faint ray of hope. "Can it be in people?"

The priest narrowed his eyes – not in suspicion, but rather amazement. "Doubtful. I suppose it could, but I've never heard of anything like that..."

Brom gulped, turning back at the double doors leading out of the Temple. His first instinct was to run out.

"Is it – curable?" Brom asked with anxiety.

"Most definitely!" the priest exclaimed with great hope. "It isn't even much of a disease really – it could be resolved with a mixture of potato and fire salts."

His chest unwound, pent up tension relieving itself as Brom nodded at the priest again.

"But why do you ask me about Kurdun?" the priest inquired with curiosity, still lacking suspicion. "Eating _any_ rotten flesh isn't a practice most normal people have – well, besides a few cannibalistic groups."

Any longer and Brom knew he would reveal more, so with a quick nodding and a brief hand wave, he stormed towards the doors.

"Brom!"

He stopped, coughing hard as a tallish, dark-haired woman jaunted over to his side, having apparently just entered the Palace. The shivering in his hands halted at once.

"We have to talk," Lydia began.

Brom watched her expression. She was serious, but morose – it almost seemed as if she was trying to reach out in some other way to him.

"I need to talk about something too," Brom replied.

 **. . .**

Brom watched her timidly as he walked around the well-furnished living room, admiring Bok's belongings and fine draperies with a flourish. Lydia had strategically planned it all well – they could talk in the Orc's home for at least a good few hours before Bok would return from his errand run in the Hold. Meanwhile, with the advent of nightfall and a heavy rainfall spattering against the gentle buildings and trees, Brom noted how distant she was being. The weather had once again mirrored her emotions – yet the walk here had been remarkably uninteresting. Several stretches of long steps interrupted by the occasional cough from Brom (who very much suspected he was catching a cold), as well as an acknowledging grunt from Lydia.

"Sit," she commanded, taking a seat on a comfortable sofa lying adjacent to an equally comfortable armchair. "Please."

Brom knew that she had somehow heard of his plans – there was simply no other reason to be so cold towards him. The constant patter of rain against the walls and door made the environment too intimate for his liking.

"Thanks," Brom mentioned gratefully, obeying. "I have Kurdun by the way."

Lydia's head jarred, a bit distracted from the topic she was going to talk about. "What?"

"It's a minor infection that I got from the - " Brom stopped, forcing the memory away. " - you know. I just need potatoes and fire salts, and I should be cured."

"I see," Lydia answered, and for a second genuine relief flooded her face. "That's good – very good to hear."

Brom nodded, hoping that this revelation would distract her long enough for him to escape somehow.

"Brom."

 _Damn it._

"Yes?" he tentatively started.

"You tell me," she replied back, face emotionless.

He sighed. "Who did you hear it from?"

"Where would the Dragonborn hear about such a thing?"

He tensed. She _never_ referred to herself as the _Dragonborn_ – only under moments of great duress, or perhaps in this instance, frustration.

"The Jarl?" he tried.

"Jarl Laila," Lydia began. "I've known her for quite some time."

"I - " Brom began. "I – don't really have much to say."

Lydia laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "Brom the wheat farmer... never saw that coming."

He returned the laugh awkwardly, now certain that she hadn't caught on. "It _does_ sound weird."

"What do you want to buy? A new dagger?" Lydia began, tone indicating that she believed she had solved everything. "Tell me. No reason to go behind my back just because we're a bit... struggling, now at least."

He shook his head at her. "I don't think you understand."

Lydia narrowed her eyes, smile still apparent on her face although the brown eyes held an intense suspicion, intermingled with a twinge of apprehension.

"Explain then."

Brom took a deep breath, having by now planned his words carefully. "I – I can't stay with you anymore. I'm – I just can't."

He had almost apologized. He couldn't do that – because truthfully to himself, he had nothing to apologize for.

Lydia chuckled, leaning closer so that her shoulders and head were inches away from his downcast face.

"Good one," she whispered, chuckling softly. "Tell another joke."

"Lydia," Brom began, having already predicted exactly how this would go. "I mean it."

"Committment to the pun," she pressed, voice quivering ever so slightly. "I like it."

"Your life isn't something I want to go through," Brom finished, keeping himself from staring at her. "It's not for me."

"Brom - "

"All this time," he interrupted her, determination shining through. "I was thinking – how did we get out of this?"

"Brom - "

"How could we have possibly managed to escape from this?"

"Br - "

"Then I realized why! It was because of _you_."

This took her aback, put off by the random compliment. He leveraged the pause.

"You're the Dragonborn," Brom stated bluntly. "You kill dragons. You fight wars. You combat evil."

Lydia stared at him hard, trying to intimidate him away from pressing further.

"You're built for this life," Brom tersely cut through. "I'm not. It's stupid of me to keep going. It was – stupid of me to have made it this far."

"Who have you been talking to?" Lydia asked with absolute loathing. "Did that moron Bok say something to you? Did you speak to – "

"No one told me anything!" Brom yelled. "This is my decision!"

"Of course it is," Lydia huffed. "It's a _decision_."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means you're a coward," Lydia bit in savagely. "You're too afraid of actually becoming what you've always wanted to be – that at the last second, you sabotage yourself."

"Really?!" Brom returned. "Me getting that finger shoved down my throat? I was sabotaging myself? Me with all the bleeding and broken bones and delusions, I was sabotaging myself?"

"You never complained about anything before," Lydia reminded. "And now – you jump ship just because of some idiot who talked you into it."

"No. One. Told. Me. ANYTHING!"

"Maybe not someone," Lydia cut across. "Maybe some sign. Or maybe some rotten bard song. Maybe a poem. I don't know!"

Brom stomped around angrily, furious but totally expecting all this.

"You weren't like this before," Lydia mentioned. "That's all I know. Why get all – _reflective_ now?"

"Because I believe in the right things for myself?" Brom fired back. "Maybe because I finally realized what was being stupid and what was being smart?"

Lydia got up from her chair, watching Brom pace around the room.

"Do you even know how to grow wheat?" Lydia quipped, a bit of amusement glowing.

"I read a book!" Brom answered in rage. "I asked people! I'm not stupid!"

She smiled at him. "I know you're not. Which is why what you're saying now is – troublesome to me."

"Lydia, you were born for this life," Brom reiterated. "You're naturally good at all the things a Dragonborn is good at. I'm not."

"So that's what you believe in, hmm?" Lydia questioned. "That how we are born sets how we live?"

"Yes!" Brom at first rang out. "No! I mean – look... I have to look out for my own safety, right?"

"And you don't feel safe with me?" Lydia mentioned angrily. "As you've said thousands of times, I am the _Dragonborn_ after all."

"I do, but - "

"Then what's the problem?!"

"You'll always be ready for anything," Brom tried. "I won't. One day it'll end up taking my life for it."

"Brom - "

"How many close calls have we had Lydia?"

"None," she lied flat out. "We've always been a step ahead of - "

"Right!" Brom screamed. "The first time with the giant, we were a step ahead. Then with the Brotherhood, we were half a step ahead. Then with the werewolves, a quarter! Don't you see?"

Lydia shook her head in exasperation.

"Eventually my luck will run out," Brom broke down. "Yours never will, because you're - "

"YES!" Lydia roared. "I'M THE DRAGONBORN! I KNOW! THANK YOU FOR MENTIONING IT EVERY DAMN DAY!"

"You love being the Dragonborn," Brom advanced, although he knew it wasn't true – he just needed her to be sufficiently hurt enough to leave him alone. "Admit it! The glory, the fanfare..."

"Because from the first day we met I've been that way, hmm?" she sarcastically quoted. "I've always been about making that distinction between Dragonborn, High Queen of Skyrim and stableboy, worthless orphan of Riften, eh?"

"You don't think you're different," Brom noted. "But the world does. In real life – not in your imagination... you are. You're _very_ different."

Lydia sniffled, wiping at the top of her right eye with disdain. "Seems to be a running theme in my life."

"What?"

"People leaving me," Lydia advanced. "It happens a lot – I was hoping it would never happen again, but hey! Talos never gave a damn about what I've ever wanted!"

Brom coughed, focusing suddenly on the rainfall outside the door.

"This is – the way it has to be," Brom tentatively asserted, wanting to kick himself. "I'm – sorry I stayed with you this far."

He had to leave. If he stayed even one more moment he would run the risk of breaking down then running right back into her arms – and he knew from past experience that from then on, the rational part of him would shut down permanently. He _couldn't_ allow that to happen.

Brom turned hastily towards the door, wrenching open the handle with a fierce pull.

"Brom."

Everything in his heart told him to run outside, despite the rain and the cold. His mind practically screamed at him to not allow more words to enter his mind. Yet his feet were still rooted at the halfway point between floorboard and thick, wet bundles of grass.

"Mhm?" Brom let out stupidly, turning back to see a cold, seemingly dead pair of brown eyes masked by immensely dark hair.

"I'm sorry too," she delivered with factual precision.

This had hurt unnecessarily, perhaps far more so than he had expected – a single wet fluid ran down his eye and over his cheekbone.

She had noticed. And just for the most fleeting moment of a brief second, Brom saw her features twitch in deep, exhaustive regret. He saw those eyes just linger over his face and over the moist cheek. He saw the normally firm mouth quiver a bit in suppressed agony. The rest of her remained unreadable, except for those shining pair of brown eyes – they were watering slightly, resiliently, and compassionately.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Awwww... why did THAT have to happen? Beginning of a longstanding shift in the story line, yay? And he STILL doesn't know about the sacrifice thing!_

 _I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	28. Help Not Arrived (I)

**Help Not Arrived (I)**

* * *

"What has happened to Skryim, Unmid?"

The normally stern Nord softened at her tone, watching his Jarl take a tired sip of her tea.

"You're asking your housecarl for advice?" Unmid responded with brevity.

Laila perked up from the small chair, leaning back slightly so that she was facing the stone ceiling, feet rhythmically tapping against the wooden floor in anxiety.

"Why can't a Jarl do that?" Laila inquired, earning a small chuckle for the oppositely-seated Unmid.

"You can," Unmid added, confused. "But you won't get much use from it."

Laila scoffed, eyes idly flicking about the Throne room, admiring the various banners and golden emblems seemingly omnipresent on every surface.

"You always denigrate yourself," Laila returned. "You're a great housecarl, you know."

"Many thanks," Unmid noted. "You are an even greater Jarl."

Laila took another sip of her tea. The herbal formula was off slightly, but she would reprimand the chef later.

"So why can't I understand this?" she asked him with gusto. "If I'm such a great Jarl, I mean."

Unmid bent over slightly to observe the stack of papers Laila had organized carefully underneath her resting forearm. A few papers had hastily scrawled lines and words on them, but for the most part the vast majority of scrolls lay unblemished by her ink.

"Skyrim used to be a land of trust," Unmid quipped sadly. "A land of adventure. Now - "

"Now this bastard Tullius seeks to make a sweep of the Hold," Laila interrupted angrily, scratching at the papers in dismay. "Look at the words! Look how well-written he is!"

With her sarcasm practically pouring, she handed a thick scroll with a golden stamp over to Unmid. He observed the small, fine print.

"From General Tullius, head of the Imperial Army," Unmid recited. "It has come to my attention that Ulfric Stormcloack and his associates may be seeking asylum in Riften, as his numbers have dwindled to near eradication."

Unmid paused, looking at Laila with confusion. "It's not a bad thing my Jarl. Unfounded suspicions. That's all."

"Keep reading," Laila implored.

"Therefore, I have decided to make a brief investigation into your Hold," Unmid continued. "Do not be alarmed – this is simply for the security of Skyrim and its people. Expect us in a fortnight's time."

"Two weeks!" Laila roared, letting her head fall on top of the stack of papers. "He's coming for us – in just two weeks!"

"Calm down," Unmid insisted, handing the paper back to Laila's reluctant palm. "He isn't coming for _us,_ or _Riften_. He's just coming for Ulf – "

"He knows the Stormcloaks aren't here, may Talos bless them and give them victory," Laila responded. "It's just a ploy to break up Riften – destabilize it, subjugate it for the Imperial cause."

"How so?" Unmid asked.

"What would a Hold do if a bunch of Imperial soldiers pranced through the front gates?" Laila rhetorically hinted.

"Be anxious, I estimate," Unmid filled in. "Be on edge."

"Exactly," Laila agreed. "And with the Thieves' Guild still here – "

"They've been quiet so far," Unmid retaliated. "In fact, a guard told me yesterday that he hasn't seen one of those rats in weeks."

"It doesn't matter," Laila retorted. "Tullius will leverage any possible crack in Riften – whether it's a banner color he doesn't like or the Thieves' Guild – he'll tear it all down and kick most of us out."

Unmid let out a reluctant smirk. "How is he supposed to do that?"

"He's got more authority than me," Laila mentioned with disgust. "General of the Imperial Army has the power to depose of any Jarl he sees fit – within reason of course."

"Exactly," Unmid returned. "He won't have any reason to."

"He'll make it up," Laila bluntly admitted. "Tullius is a crafty old man – it won't take long for him to shut us down."

Unmid nodded slowly, watching Laila sink further (if that was possible) into her chair. He had never seen her appear this defeated before.

"Why would he want to, though?" he tried. "What's the point of deliberately forcing out a Jarl and destabilizing an entire Hold?"

"Imperial agenda," Laila repeated in monotone. "Throw out any Stormcloak sympathizers – replace them with Imperial puppets."

"So why now?"

Laila leaned forward, letting her gaze fly wildly. "That's what I've been trying to figure out."

"Did Balgruuf get the same letter?" Unmid queried.

Laila held this in her mind, evaluating the possible outcomes. "Improbable. But not impossible. He's a smart fellow – it's unlikely he would reveal his sympathies to anyone, perhaps not even his own wife."

"When did you last speak to him?"

"Back at the Skyrim annual feast for royalty," Laila remembered, now lost in memory. "What a horrible time I had too. If Lydia hadn't shown up midway – "

Laila broke out in a minor fit of laughter, memories excluded permanently from Unmid's discernment.

"Can the Dragonborn pick sides?" Unmid suddenly posed.

"Technically yes," Laila started. "But practically no. It would only risk alienating nearly half of the population – citizens would start fearing and despising the Dragonborn more than looking up at her... or him, centuries ago."

"I see," Unmid noted. "The curse of power, I gather."

Laila nodded slowly.

"I suppose so."

She turned back to the thick golden scroll once more. Every time she read the words in her mind she only grew more infuriated – but more pressingly, a dooming sense of anxiety was welling up. For the first time in many years, she felt powerless to prevent a tragedy from occurring. Even with the Thieves' Guild or any concerns with the Black-Briar's, all she had to do was deposit a few guards to take care of or at least look into the situation – but now, no matter how many bodies she threw at the problem, there was no chance of stopping it.

"I know how you feel," Unmid attempted, trying to catch her line of vision. "You feel weak. Defenseless."

"Brilliant," Laila replied with sarcasm. "You should be a guard."

"But I know everyone will get through this," Unmid pressed on. "No matter what happens. Whether we all get booted or stuck here, or any other outcome – we'll make it through."

"That's really the only thing we have left," Laila elaborated. "Hope. Illogical."

"But powerful," Unmid advanced. "Moving. Holds were built on hope."

"You should be a poet," Laila joked.

But Unmid ignored her, contented to just sit back and spend more time agonizing over the future. He would continue giving her his useless counsel – because that's what housecarls were made to do.

And as she had said, he was great at his job.

 **. . .**

"It's remarkable," the guard immediately informed him, taking Brom by surprise. "It's astounding that you were able to come this far."

Brom waved away the man's compliments, observing his small patch of soil stand organized in neat rows. The moon was shining in such a way that he could individually see each of the small indents in dirt where he had buried his seeds, and enough of a pleasant breeze was out that the surrounding fence rattled a bit and refreshed Brom.

His bedroll was next to a half-empty bag of seeds, and in sharp contrast to what he thought it would be – sleeping in it was actually very comfortable.

The biggest advantage of course, was the extra ten gold coins he pocketed every day in lieu of wasting them on a room in the Inn. Over the course of three days and countless hours spent toiling away with supposed wheat "experts" in the Keep and much busywork – a cool forty gold now was tucked into a secretive compartment in his bedroll. He knew it was a foolish place to hide literally his entire savings, but until he found a sufficiently secure place to bury it, it would have to do.

"I mean it," the guard exclaimed. "My informants tell me that they literally have to kick you out of the Keep – even after hours of paperwork, doing errands for them – "

"I believe in working hard," Brom simply put. "I have to get my own. I'm sure you can understand."

"Admirable work ethic," the guard echoed. "I see. So what's the story boy?"

Brom paused, keeping himself from touching the small bag of seeds.

"What story?" Brom vaguely repeated, although he knew exactly what the guard was referring to.

"Yours, of course!" he responded. "What's a boy your age doing out here, working the fields? You have an ill father or mother you need to send gold to?"

"No," Brom hastily replied.

"Sick grandparents maybe?"

"No."

"Sister or brother perhaps?"

Brom was growing tired. "I'm not doing it for anyone sir."

The guard stopped speaking, staring at the grassy floor with a bit of shame – or at least that's what Brom interpreted, as his face was still covered by the mask.

"Oh well," the guard casually remarked. "Can't blame me for asking."

"I suppose not," Brom returned.

"Here," the man offered, taking a few gold coins outside his pocket. "Take it as a bonus. Good work today."

Brom smiled a bit, catching the five gold coins in his fingers before rolling them into his palm, firmly securing them from the guard's view.

"Thank you sir," Brom repeated gratefully.

"Enjoy yourself Brom," the guard encouraged, striding off into the darkness once more until he disappeared entirely.

Brom waited for the set of footsteps to subside into nothing before walking back to his bedroll, stuffing the new five coins in with a certain amount of pleasure. He climbed gingerly into the warm bedroll, laying his head back down to look at the stars with a methodical relaxation. The sky was clear and bright, with the moon paving the way for numerous stars to shine down on the Hold and his farm, just tips of white light hitting the wooden fence so that it remained defined to his eyesight.

Nights like this often made him think of her, despite him trying his best not to. Although it had barely been a few days since he had stormed out of Bok's house, it had felt like an eternity – he still had no idea how he had not run into her since then. A few times he could have sworn he saw someone following him, but every time he had turned to incite a fight – the figure was gone.

He hated himself for being so cowardly about it. In truth, he should have told her right away, back when Bok first found them – but he had such an elaborate pretext, such a useful excuse... he always knew perhaps that his hands shivering was a non-issue, but it did give Brom an easy method to distance himself.

"Come on..."

Brom grew agitated, getting up from his bedroll and paced around the small plot of land.

He had to make a choice. Either he could spent the rest of his working life thinking about his memories, or push past them and move on. Some of the sentiments he found were closely tied to Lydia's physical closeness to him – and they tended to linger the most. The breeze was disappearing, both from his mind and the air – leaving Brom with a static lack of motion he had never experienced before.

He rummaged through the bedroll, fingers lightly brushing against a few dislocated gold pieces before feeling warm leather.

Brom extracted the still warm bracers, observing his name imprinted on them once more.

 _Brom Ven._

"Don't even remember keeping these..."

 _Skulvar._

 _Her._

 _Her companions._

 _But in the end, her._

He had to let go. He would get nowhere if he didn't. Moving on meant letting go. It was a simultaneous event.

"Thanks."

Brom relished the feeling of the warm leather, letting memories flood him once more. He chucked them into the distance. He watched the diminishing size of the figure, gradually thudding far away into deep grass.

His first mistake had always been about searching for something he could have given himself.

Hope.

Confidence.

Love.

He had been looking for those things in all the wrong places, but here was a chance to start anew.

 **. . .**

As it turned out, he wasn't sleepy yet.

Brom was walking through Riften's central marketplace, commotion long since died down and residents safely retreated into their respective hovels – with only a few spare guards to keep the lookout for any trouble. His first fear was that they would enforce a curfew on all of the Hold's residents, but that didn't seem to be the case. Noise was scarce, just as he liked it – nothing but occasional footsteps (usually his own) and the odd squeak of wooden poles and homes as their residents stumbled about in drunken fatigue.

"Greetings! Are you here for the show?"

Brom startled. To his right, a small crowd of onlookers were fixated on him with eagerness, although they seemed to be doing something else entirely different.

They consisted of perhaps ten people, with a few women intermingled with mostly men. They were all crowded around a slightly elevated podium with a rather short man perched atop the top step. Due to his height, he barely rose above the crowd – he was the one addressing Brom.

He was startled for two reasons: how could they notice him in his clandestine black garments, and more importantly, how had he not noticed _them_?

"You just seem like the type of man trying to clear his head," the short man called out, looking to the crowd for reluctant confirmation. "Want to come see me perform?"

Brom nodded casually. "Sure."

It's not like he had anything better to do, and the fact that this was taking place right in front of several guards meant that this congregation was probably safe. Brom wasn't even sure what the performance was.

He walked over to the small crowed, who turned their eyes back to the short man perched atop his little podium.

"Thank you, good sir!" the man enthusiastically proclaimed. "Now here is my routine – get ready for bundles of joy everyone!"

Brom felt amused by his choice of words. Some of the crowd appeared to feel the same way – he wondered if the performing man had gotten most of his audience by doing the same thing he just did to Brom.

"So I was walking in a cave near Helgen..." the man started. "... not that Helgen _isn't_ a cave itself. I mean, the whole damn thing's practically teeming with all sorts of trash and vermin."

A few nervous chuckles from the audience. Brom sighed deeply, understanding what kind of performance this was.

"Tough crowd," the shorter man compensated, a bead of sweat just trickling down his cheekbone. "Any tougher, and I'll have a hell of a time cutting you down with my sword!"

This time, absolutely no laughs came from the audience. After a few seconds, Brom burst out in childish giggles.

"HAHAHAHA!"

The crowd began a new bout of laughs, amused by the overindulgent reaction.

"Well at least I have one friend tonight!" the shorter man proclaimed over the ensuing chuckling. "Why did you laugh good sir, when no one else did?"

Brom shut his mouth necessarily, having let into his impulses once again. "Because... it was so – terrible, that I just had to – "

The crowd burst out laughing once more, cutting Brom's sentence off. Brom resumed a brief bout of chuckling.

"Giggle away sir!" the comedian went on. "Maybe one day I'll be able to laugh at my own lack of self-esteem!"

The crowd's laughter intensified, Brom nearly losing himself in the process.

 **. . .**

He wasn't sure how long they went on, but he did know eventually as the comedian stopped making self-deprecating remarks and silenced the audience with a bitter farewell.

"You've all been fantastic tonight," the man mentioned. "Especially you sir, with your – creative input."

Brom chuckled once more, synchronized with the crowd. "I suppose so. Thanks!"

"That's all people," the man went back to the audience. "Thanks very much! And remember, come back every other night to see the true trickster of comedy – the amazing Keeko!"

Brom began clapping, encouraging others to do so as well. The shorter man took a brief bow and a head nod before stepping down from the platform.

The crowd was gradually dispersing. Several people bid adieu to each other out of courtesy and walked separate paths away – some into homes close by, some left the Hold entirely through the thick wooden gates. A few remained behind, chatting up in the night air while the guards overlooked them all in the dim moonlight.

"He's a bit of a quack," a woman called out to Brom, removing her head covering to look him in the face. "I didn't find any of his jokes really all that good."

Brom chuckled earnestly, but was alert once more, fearing the worst – yet he needn't have, as the brown eyes and black hair never came... instead, a relatively young face, blue eyes and light blonde hair looked back at him. She was slightly shorter than him.

"I guess," Brom mouthed back to her. "But that didn't stop anyone from laughing."

"Awkward humor," the woman described. "One of life's greatest ironies."

"Hmph," Brom returned. "You should be a poet."

"I do write poetry!" the woman – or rather, girl – squeaked excitedly. "Have you ever heard of, _Ballad of a Careful Seductress_?"

"He probably hasn't heard of that," a new male voice came from behind Brom. "And you're certainly far from a seductress."

Brom watched the shorter man approach them both, grinning at the girl knowingly.

"Bugger off Keeko," she spat, although it too was done in a knowing fashion. "You did even worse than last time."

"Shut it," Keeko bit back. "Last time I had just four people! This time I had ten!"

"Of which," the girl continued. "You bribed me to come, and you dragged this poor fellow from his lonesome to come hear your buggery! He was probably just relaxing, enjoying the night air..."

"I didn't pay her anything," Keeko whined, distancing hismelf physically from her. "Trust me sir, I never would."

Brom felt an urge to chuckle again, feeling tension slipping away.

"You see?" the girl mentioned. "Awkward humor Keeko. You're a funny comedian only when you poke fun at how much of a little tart you are."

"You see what I have to deal with sir?" Keeko groaned.

Brom nodded casually, observing the pair once again. "I'm Brom, by the way."

The girl extended her hand first. "Alondria."

Brom took her hand, shaking it firmly. It was incredibly warm – but not passionately so; it was a roaring, joyful kind of recklessness, almost as if she was imbuing her palm with a young mind and active imagination.

"You already know who I am," Keeko sarcastically quipped once more, taking Brom's hand after he finished his handshake. "The amazing Keeko!"

"More like amazing weak-o," Alondria smirked. "What was that joke about cows?"

"That was a funny one!" Keeko retaliated. "Nearly half the audience laughed!"

"It's true," Brom mentioned importantly. "I laughed."

"You don't count," Alondria advised. "You gave a pity laugh for everything."

"Yeah, I was wondering about that," Keeko sounded out. "Were you giving a pity laugh?"

Brom held his hands up, as though he had been caught with a stolen sweet roll. "What gave it away?"

Alondria giggled, but it took Keeko a few more moments to understand.

"Oh," Keeko began. "I see. You lying bastard."

Brom gave the fakest laugh he possibly could, earning a well-placed punch into his ribs. He continued laughing.

 **. . .**

"So let me get this straight... you've known each other for seven years?"

Alondria nodded happily, while Keeko grinned sarcastically.

They had lead Brom across the entire city to the very borders where stone walls remained. Keeko had quickly scaled the stone wall and sat atop the tall structure, while Alondria had helped Brom up the last few portions of it. He was surprised to see an enormous body of water behind Riften – he had never imagined the Hold being backed by a crystalline blue lake, perfectly reflective of moonlight and still peaceful.

"How did you all meet?" Brom questioned, taking a bite of an apple Keeko had offered him on the walk there. The view was enchanting – but also oddly focusing for their conversation.

"To be honest, I don't even remember," Alondria noted, letting golden strands of hair lapse to her sides as she punched Keeko. "You remember?"

"Not with a fool like you," Keeko spat, holding his shoulder in mock pain. "But I distinctly recall your father trying to kill me for offering you a quill, or something."

Alondria laughed, observing Brom's confused expression.

"Brom, about seven years ago, families could send their children to this program for basic poetry lessons with the Jarl's housecarl," Alondria explained. "My father – always an overbearing man – thought it would be a good idea to get me to learn the art."

Brom narrowed his eyes, contradictions forming in his mind. "But before you said – "

"No, don't get me wrong, it made me love poetry," Alondria hastily backtracked. "But it did feel a bit forced – especially coming from my father. But it was wonderful – until a certain midget started screwing up the entire program that is..."

"For your informaton," Keeko broke in. "I'm actually well within normal height for a Breton. Check the tables."

"You're a Breton?" Brom interrupted. "You look like a Nord!"

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Keeko queried.

"We Nords have big noses," Brom pointed out, touching his nose with insecurity brimming. "You've got a rather large nose as well."

"Hmph," Keeko breathed out. "Well, you know what the ladies say about big noses, eh?"

Brom struggled to suppress a laugh. Alondria looked annoyed.

"What _do_ they say Alondria?" Brom asked with purely fake interest. "What with you being a woman, I mean."

"Most woman I know, _hate_ big noses," she hissed savagely, earning a growl from Keeko. "And it certainly has nothing to do with – how large one's manhood is."

"Bollocks," Keeko refused. "Brom – you agree with that saying, right? Big noses means big meats?"

Brom actually coughed from his laughter, eyes slightly watering. "I don't know... I'll have to investigate to know more!"

With an overly dramatic notion, Brom assumed a very priest-ly voice before turning his entire body to face Keeko's crotch area, pretending to be observing it intensely.

"Boys are so weird," Alondria gasped, recoiling as Brom and Keeko continued privately. "Could you two just please get a room?"

"Why, by the - " Brom fakely gasped, still using his priest-ly voice before removing himself from such close proximity to Keeko's crotch. "Talos has truly blessed you, Keeko!"

Keeko let out an uproarious burst of laughter, Brom practically leaning against him with their conjoined giggles.

"That's... why... I'm... " Keeko tried, but couldn't as the laughter was becoming too intense. "Alondria! Finish it for me!"

She sighed. "No."

"Please!"

"No."

Brom felt his chest thumping with laughter as he kept imagining what a priest would do in such a situation.

"Please!"

"NO!"

"Brom! Ask her!"

He turned to Alondria, and flashed his most innocent-looking expression he possibly could.

"Still no."

"Damn it," Brom breathed, still recovering from laughter.

"Please!" Keeko attempted once more, having controlled most of his laughter. "Please Alondria!"

She closed her eyes, apparently disgusted with what she was about to do.

"And that's why they call you the Amazing Keeko."

Brom burst out laughing once more.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _New change of pace, eh? Weird way to end, EH?_

 _Anyway, much planned for the rest of the story, and yes, like you probably noticed, Lydia not present (in body) in this chapter! Yep, it's deliberate..._

 _I will say this – this is a pretty big turning point in the plot, and I know I oversay that quite a bit (probably will stop saying that from now on) – but just saying... hopefully the age of "boring exposition" chapters is getting over, and the plot starts to get some more weight/emotional heft to it. (I hope so at least)_

 _This is also a great chapter for me to start showing the larger side of Skyrim, and not overly focus on a few characters – but believe me, those tensions/characterization will still be here in plenty – it hopefully still is an intimate story._

 _I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	29. Help Not Arrived (II)

**Help Not Arrived (II)**

* * *

His stride was fast, and his pace was quick. He had practically seconds to get behind the double-bolted barriers, following the swish of Farengar's cloak narrowly as the latter sped behind a stack of collapsing bookshelves.

"Farengar!"

"My Jarl! In here!"

Balgruuf felt the whiz of an arrow just whistle past his ear, slicing off a golden strand of hair. He wasn't sure how many were alive – and he wouldn't be among them if he kept thinking instead of running.

With a forceful pull on his cloak, Balgruuf obeyed the motion and rolled back down a dark set of stairs, tumbling and feeling several pieces of flesh crush agonizingly against hard wood. A thick shutting sound emerged behind him – Balgruuf was left on his back, in pure darkness.

"My Jarl?"

"Farengar!"

A small flame spontaneously flashed, and a hooded, slightly shaking figure with a torch looked back at Balgruuf with nervous confusion.

"They came from nowhere," Farengar breathed out, removing his hood to expose a half-scarred face. "Who are these people?"

"I'm not sure," Balgruuf replied, gulping as the sound of steel slicing through flesh was audible above the low ceiling – evidently their attackers had met several other victims above this cramped space.

Balgruuf examined the scars on Farengar's features with pity. "What happened to you?"

"I was talking to my housecarl, trying to get some sprouts from the market," Farengar slowly let out. "Then these odd-looking men – hooded freaks with a Giant in tow – burst in and started ransacking the place."

Balgruuf ignored more cutting noises above him, along with a few screams. "What did they want? How did you get away?"

"Nothing!" Farengar roared weakly. "Barbarians! I managed to cast a few apparitions – a Frost creature and a reanimated corpse – and managed to get away... not scot-free, as you can tell."

Farengar held thin fingers to the gash-ridden face, a few cuts glowing with oddly blue energy.

Balgruuf rallied. "The Brotherhood?"

"That's what I thought too," Farengar iterated. "But these people didn't have the symbol – and these were dark red cloaks, not the black ones the Brotherhood uses."

"And Astrid is dead," Balgruuf mentioned. "Yes, I agree – it can't be the Brotherhood."

"Where were you?"

"In the War Room," Balgruuf recalled. "Was talking to Irileth about bolstering Whiterun's defenses. Suddenly she keeled over with an arrow in her side – she told me to run."

"You'd never do that," Farengar objected.

"I wouldn't," Balgruuf agreed. "But I had to check up on the rest of Dragonsreach – the Throne Room..."

Balgruuf paused, vivid memories crashing against one another.

"All destroyed," Balgruuf repeated. "Guards dead. Throne smashed. Wood was on fire – my family escaped outside Dragonsreach just as I was knocked back by something; some spell I couldn't understand..."

"We can't fight them off," Farengar noted. "I'm not sure how Whiterun is – but my guess is, it's fallen. We have to regroup and seek help – and perhaps look more into what this all is."

"The Dragonborn," Balgruuf immediately exclaimed. "We have to. It's our only chance."

"You know where she is?"

Balgruuf groaned. He had practically no contact with Lydia for well more than half a year – he had sent an occasional message to check up of course, but it almost seemed as if she had spent the last few months completely off the map – so no replies came, the Solitude job was never followed up on, and Balgruuf was deserted.

"Through the tunnel," Farnegar advised, yanking open a small circular grid, fresh water flowing through in spades. "We have to leave."

"And what about everyone else?" Balgruuf whispered, still hearing a few sounds of flesh being torn apart, along with incredibly heavy footsteps above. "My family? Irileth? Proventus? Everyone el - "

"You just have to believe they will all make it out," Farengar emphasized. "Please my Jarl! We must leave now if we want to be alive!"

Balgruuf heard a thudding noise against the trap door at the top of the staircase. "I see. Let's go!"

He followed Farengar into the small tunnel, just squeaking through the narrow space. He crawled quickly through the enclosure, following the glow of Farengar's torch.

If his intuition was correct, this tunnel would likely lead them out the back end of Whiterun... Dragonsreach was situated on the very border, and atop a small mountain as well, so it only made sense that, unless the maruaders were sieging – their escape path would be perfect, cutting past the chaos.

The slope changed suddenly, confirming his suspicions. Balgruuf kept a wary eye on Farengar – the torch was slowly dying out. A few moments later, Balgruuf found himself pressed against Farengar's back.

"Help me," Farengar insisted through the darkness, shoving a chain into Balgruuf's hands.

Balgruuf yanked as hard as he could along with Farengar, feeling a gate move forward. He tumbled out into cool moonlight, feeling wet grass and a strong breeze immediately hit him in the face. Immense heat, a force nearly unbearable to stand underneath – was placed directly above Balgruuf's head.

"By the - " he attempted, looking back.

Whiterun was Whiterun no more. The Hold was burning, immense walls of stone impenetrable no longer, consumed in fiery infernos exploding from every direction.

His home. His city. His people.

Burning.

 **. . .**

In sharp contrast to the fiery infernos slowly consuming Whiterun's long stone walls, the humble little structures bordering Riften were astonishingly tame by comparison. The morning sun was just apparent, peeking out from beneath thick clouds. The slight illumination wafted out on top of the tall spires of wall, brightening the faces of the three covert figures leaning casually against a few poles near the Mistveil Keep.

"So this is where you work?"

Brom chuckled, turning back to Alondria. "Yeah. Right in the Keep. I farm for an hour or so, then go here to handle paperwork."

Keeko grimaced at him, eyes still sleepy. "I don't usually get up in the mornings Brom. You could have asked to meet us in the evening..."

Brom grinned, patting Keeko on the shoulder. "Comedians sleep late eh?"

Keeko nodded in the affirmative, while Alondria pressed forward.

"Aren't you supposed to be working now?" she inquired in concern. "We don't have jobs Brom – well, at least not real ones."

She smirked at Keeko, who was evidently too tired to think of a snarky reply.

"Sometimes I have some free time," Brom mentioned. "Not for long though."

"I still can't get over the fact that you live in a farm," Keeko broke in. "I mean... isn't that hard?"

"Have you slept in my bedroll?" Brom questioned. "It's nice."

"Must get a nice view of the stars too," Alondria noted. "I can see it working out."

"BOY!"

Brom hastily turned his attention back to the front of the Keep, disappointed to see the same enormously large man approach him as he always did. He had taken enough of a chance inviting both of his new -

 _Friends. No. Not Yet._

 _Companions? No. Well... maybe?_

Either way, he didn't particularly relish at the thought of letting two strangers into his life so easily - he was trying to rebuild after all, but that last night out was so ridiculously heartwarming and uplifting...

 _Enlightening. Relaxing. Forgetting._

Brom had to. There was no other choice but to proceed forward – he felt somewhat satisifed to note down their names and relative addresses before leaving that night. Alondria lived in a massive place, a wooden beast that would rival the size of an Inn, just in the left corner of the central marketplace... Keeko on the other hand was more restrained, taking up residence in a small hut on the edge of the city. Brom often vaguely questioned how two people of completely diffrent backgrounds would forge camraderie so easily. He has passed by them while dropping them off that night – but he never could quite remember the exact details – it was so dark...

"MY BOY!"

Brom sighed, mind snapping back to attend to the Nord man. This particular Nord man was at least twice Brom's weight, but almost two inches shorter. His head was massive and bald, with his bone structure being incredibly robust – not really by full muscle, but by fat and muscle layered atop on another like some twisted blanket of flesh. Technically, he was supposed to be Brom's supervisor – a person in charge of dispatching tasks to Brom concerning wheat-related products – yet the man thought of himself more as an incredibly sensual lover, a romantic bard trapped in a distasteful job.

"Brom my boy!" he cheerfully called out once more. "Bring me a few handfuls of seeds my boy! For tasting my boy!"

"Why does he keep saying 'my boy'?" Keeko whispered at Brom.

"Follow me and keep Alondria close," Brom whispered back, irritating the latter.

"Why - "

"And who's this fine gal my boy?"

Brom immediately moved away, dragging Alondria and Keeko with him.

As they walked through the considerably large Hold, Brom noticed that most of the residents seemed oddly busy – a few Black-Briar banners were nailed to poles, and Brom in general knew enough about Riften culture to know when and when not to ask questions. A few guards seemed vaguely present, perhaps making sure the overall physical safety of its citizens were safe – but anything after that, Brom did not try to understand.

"Hey Alondria," Keeko sounded out, following Brom still. "Isn't your father a Black-Briar?"

Brom gulped, suddenly stopping in his tracks to stare at Alondria.

"Really?" he asked, watching her expression become amused.

"Yes," Alondria confirmed. "How could you not know this? It's been seven years!"

"Never care much to be honest," Keeko tried. "Do you know anything about the Black-Briars Brom?"

Brom nodded in a methodical manner. "Not really. Know enough to not ask questions."

"Then you know enough," Alondria replied. "Anything more, and I might have to kill you."

Brom smiled, finding himself at the gates. With a strong shove and approval of a few guards standing next to them, Brom pushed past and into strong sunlight, hearing several groans behind him.

"How far is your damn farm?" Keeko asked with irritation.

"Not far," Brom responded with a smirk.

Brom began his brisk jog, eyeing the farm just a few hundred paces away. Every time he began his jaunt to the farm, he felt an odd sense of pride well up – the Aspen trees and shoddy path gave the traveling there some much-welcomed texture, despite the enormous amount of tricky pathways he had to navigate to get there.

"This way doesn't look travel-able," Alondria mentioned, raising a hand to block out the ensuing sunlight.

"Travel-able isn't a word idiot," Keeko quipped.

"Shut it."

Brom hopped over the low fence, immediately tugging at the sack of seeds, examining each grain individually. A part of him was worried – ordinarily, his supervisior seemed all right with his work, but why was he now trying to inspect his supplies? Had he done something wrong?

"I heard the Black-Briars are trying to cut a deal with the Stormcloaks," Keeko asked Alondria, who was watching Brom's concerned movements with great interest. "Is that true?"

"I don't know," Alondria promptly responded. "Daddy never lets me see any of his dealings."

Brom scoffed. "You still call him Daddy?"

Alondria raised an eyebrow. "Shut it Brom."

"Right."

"I'm just saying," Keeko noted, also looking at Brom's seeds while admiring the fence. "Riften rumors get around quickly. We should all be alert."

"Be quiet Keeko," Alondria hushed. "You don't even know what you're talking about."

"I haven't heard any rumors about that," Brom noted, still fumbling with the seeds. "But I can see how people could make a rumor like that. Black-briars are powerful, aren't they?"

"Yes they are," Alondria again confirmed. "Indeed they are..."

Brom nodded, finally taking up enough seeds to consume into one palm.

"I have enough," he stated. "Let's go."

Brom turned to leave, but as soon as he hopped over the fence he was disappointed to hear a lack of footsteps behind him.

"Guys?" Brom turned back.

Alondria and Keeko looked at each other.

"This is all just so weird," Keeko mentioned. "I mean – we still don't know much about you."

"He's right," Alondria noted. "I feel like we're following around some random crazy boy."

"I'm not insane," Brom furthered, grinning widely. "Trust me."

"Should we take a chance with him Keeko?"

"Hmph – maybe. Maybe if he does first?"

Keeko and Alondria looked at Brom, who understood what he had to do. He sighed.

"Want to be friends?" Brom asked stupidly.

They both looked at each other.

Several moments of pause.

A burst of laughter. They clotheslined him with their conjoined forearms, giggling furiously on the way back to the Hold.

Brom quickly ran through his mind, looking for a series of the worst expletives he could use.

 **. . .**

"You want some tea?"

"No."

"Sweet roll?"

"No."

"Water?"

"No."

"Lydia..."

"Ale."

Bok grimaced, looking around the brightly lit home. Sunlight filtered through cleverly, illuminating just enough of his possessions to showcase to her that any intoxicating beverage was tucked safely away from any visitor's reach. Most of the couches and sofas remained hidden in the darkness; she however, was strangely sitting on the only one that had any sunlight on it. Her face was expressionless, locked immovably forward with occasional downturns of the eye.

"No," Bok disagreed, grinning at her. "You're not going to drink this away. Get over it."

"Get," Lydia repeated, still keeping her gaze fixed forward. "Over it."

Bok grew concerned. "You're starting to scare me Lydia. How long have you been sitting there? It's morning! And you want to start having a pint?"

"Yes," Lydia repeated dangerously, this time staring directly through Bok. "Get. Me. Ale."

Bok sighed, walking to a loose floorboard before wrenching it upward. A glint of glass shone brightly through, and Bok extracted it gingerly. He procured a cup from the night stand, looking at Lydia with disapproval.

"As you wish, Dragonborn," Bok tried, knowing how annoying using her title would be to her.

"Give me the whole bottle," Lydia commanded.

"By Talos woman," Bok reprimanded, handing the bottle over with disgust. "What's gotten into you?"

Lydia motioned for him to sit down next to her. Bok dragged a heavy chair close to her, feeling a torrent of bitter nostalgia wash over.

"You know what he said to me as he walked out," Lydia muttered, taking a long gulp of the bottle. " _I'm sorry_. He said he was sorry."

"Right," Bok agreed. "Then you said you were sorry too. We already talked about this."

"But I didn't mean it, obviously," Lydia whispered. "How could I? But he _did_. He _meant_ every, single, word..."

Bok clasped her free hand in his much larger palms, gently massaging the still brusied fingers.

"Lydia, I mean this as a friend," Bok attempted, already feeling her resist. "Think of it from his perspective. Do you think he wants to have his life in danger all the time?"

"No!" she wailed, twitching slightly.

"Do you think he likes looking over his shoulder constantly for things that might kill him?"

"Oh my - " Lydia began, disgusted. "You sound _just like him_. Do you even hear yourself talking, you babbling moron?"

"You're not angry at me," Bok soothed, pressing on her fingers tightly. "Stop misplacing your anger."

"Why not?" Lydia questioned, downing another shot from the bottle. "You're practically taking his side."

"I'm not picking sides!" Bok exclaimed, agitated. "I'm trying to get you to understand!"

"Understand what?" Lydia repeated, placing an inauthentic look of curiosity on her face. "That I'm such an evil person, that no one wants to be remotely even close to me?"

"Now where did you get that idea?" Bok expressed, confused. "Who told you that - "

"It always happens to me!" Lydia interrupted, the next drink almost pouring out her lips. "First my team in Riften! Then you and Sot and Egvir and the others... and now him! All of you! Always... just - "

She stopped drinking, forcing the bottle against her brow as she rubbed her forehead with the glass.

"None of that is your fault," Bok reminded her. "You treated us – all of the people you mentioned – better than anyone ever has. You were an exemplary leader. You were a fantastic Dragon - "

"OH FOR TALOS' SAKE!"

Lydia stood up dramatically, shaking off Bok's palms before throwing the bottle hard at the floorboard. With a earsplitting crash, the glass instantly disintegrated on impact and scattered all across the floor, small chunks of glass skipping speedily away.

"IS THAT ALL YOU IDIOTS THINK ABOUT?" she roared. "DRAGONBORN LYDIA! HERE TO SAVE THE WHOLE DAMN DAY! WHAT A HERO!"

She was pacing furiously, now frustrated since she had broken the one thing that was nulling her emotions.

"Lydia..."

"SHUT UP!" she forced back. "JUST SHUT UP! HOW WOULD YOU KNOW HOW IT FEELS? HUH? YOU WOULD NEVER KNOW HOW IT FEELS TO BE ME!"

Bok hastily stood up, trying to use his frame to intimidate Lydia into at least reducing her movements.

"Calm down woman," Bok growled. " _Now_."

"Bugger off you stupid – "

"Listen to me!" Bok forced past, holding her strongly by the shoulders, halting her pacing. "Tell me in a few words – why are you upset?"

Lydia sniffled, staring at the ceiling fruitlessly. Bok was sensing much more regret than righteous rage.

"Because I thought it was different this time," Lydia admitted quietly. "Everything with him – felt different. He felt – more longlasting. I thought – or maybe I hoped – some part of me wanted – "

"Get to the point," Bok interrupted.

"I didn't want him to go, okay?" Lydia rapidly stated, practically flying past the words. "I was so shocked and so surprised – I thought he was joking with me or something, but I guess from the time he asked to travel ahead of us back in the forest..."

"He's been through a lot," Bok reiterated. "You agree with that, right?"

Lydia nodded her head slowly.

"Then you have to understand, you _must – "_ Bok began timidly. " - why he would leave. It's the best thing to do – especially for someone in his situation and age."

"I don't care," Lydia bluntly cut. "I wanted – "

"If you truly want what's best – " Bok began. " - what's right for him, you'll let this one go."

"No," Lydia softly refused, voice practically down to a hoarse cough. "I won't. Because I can't."

"Lydia – "

"Lydia!"

Bok widened his eyes, confused by the sudden announcement. He turned to see the doorway, shocked at once to see the Jarl of Riften standing inside his home, accompanied by a small entourage of guards.

"We need to talk, Dragonborn," Jarl Laila called out to the center of the room, face slightly concerned to see the motionless Lydia in Bok's grip. "Is – everything okay?"

"Jarl Laila," Bok started at once. "My apologies. I was just – speaking to the Dragonborn on some personal matters."

"All right," Laila vaguely agreed. "I'm sorry to interrupt – but I have very pressing news that the Dragonborn should hear."

"Tell it to Bok," Lydia interjected, loosening from his grip and making her way back to the chair. "I'm not in the mood for any festivals honoring my left ass cheek, or some feast where I sign people's – "

"Lydia!" Bok interrupted, greatly exasperated. "I mean – Dragonborn! Mind your language!"

Laila let a brief smile, gentle but confused, slip onto her face. Lydia turned angrily to Bok.

"Why not?" Lydia questioned. "I'm the Dragonborn, aren't I? Dragonborns can say whatever the hell they want! Come here my Jarl! Show me your underpants!"

"The Dragonborn is clearly a bit – intoxicated this morning," Laila deduced hesitantly, seeing the glass chunks sprawled on the floor. "You all stand outside and guard the perimeter."

The guards nodded in a synchronized fashion, moving out of the home.

"What brings you here my Jarl?" Bok asked immediately.

"Bad news Bok," Laila started. "Very bad news."

"I see," the Orc agreed. "Should I leave?"

"If you want," Laila offered. "But given your experience with these matters, you could stay – if you wish."

"Stay Bok," Lydia called out randomly. "Watch Jarl Laila lecture me on honor, dignity, and other stupid rubbish."

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" Laila bypassed, taking a seat on Bok's chair beside Lydia. "Did you wake up this morning and decide – wait a moment, I haven't embarassed the Jarl of Riften today!"

"Oh, that's right, I forget," Lydia bit sarcastically. "You actually take pride in your title. Well then, _Jarl Laila_ , feel free to kiss my – "

"Stop," Laila cut her off. "I'll ask only once again – anything you want to tell me?"

Lydia paused, staring at Laila's hard gaze with a sloppy look in her eye. Her head bobbed around randomly, seemingly lost in her own train of thought.

"No," she reassured her, a semblance of her actual voice coming back. "I'm – I'm sorry. I just – have some things to work out, that's all."

"I see," Laila stated. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me?"

Lydia felt the urge to look at Bok, who's expression remained unreadable.

"No," she recognized. "Nothing you can help me with, I'm afraid."

"Very well," Laila tersely stopped. "Then I need your help."

Lydia blinked twice. "On?"

"Tullius is coming for Riften," Laila stated emphatically. "He's coming in a little less than a fortnight. Says its for some _inspection_."

Lydia straightened immediately. "Oh. I see."

Laila leaned back into her chair, staring at the ceiling as Lydia had done before. Bok stepped behind her, patting her lightly on the shoulders in a vain attempt at reassurance.

"You know what that means, don't you?" Laila asked rhetorically. "It's over for me."

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Lydia hastily added. "Tullius has done this before. We know that. He bluffs quite a lot."

"I should show you the letter," Laila informed her.

Lydia paused, narrowing her eyes. "A letter? He sent a _letter_?"

Laila pursed her lips, holding her hands to her eyes. "See? Not a bluff."

"What's the point of it?" Lydia asked. "There's nothing to be had in ransacking Riften – and even if he does replace you, there wouldn't be any benefit for him to do that."

"I spent so many hours thinking about this," Laila reminisced. "I still can't figure it out."

Lydia leaned back on her chair, mirroring Laila. From all her experience with the Imperial Army, she had an easy guess that they would not seek to destabilize Riften too much – after all, adding a new Jarl and revamping the infrastructure would cost the Empire meaningless sums of gold – unless Tullius was deliberately plotting to drive up costs in order to pocket a bigger portion, or make his cut larger...

 _No._

Tullius was a questionable man, but Lydia knew that mostly he was restricted to following anti-corruption litigation and several advisors (many of which Lydia knew personally) were keeping watch over him. It was highly unlikely that Tullius would try to shake up Riften therefore, to pocket a few more gold – but it was entirely possible that he was being forced to do so, perceptibly by an external force.

"The Empire doesn't always give Tullius a choice in these matters, you know," Lydia sounded out. "Laila – it could be that he's being forced to look for Stormcloaks here."

"By who?" Laila refused. "Who commands General Tullius?"

"Someone, clearly," Lydia broke in. "Laila – you must not be reactionary in dealing with this. You cannot do that."

"Because you've never been reactionary?" Laila quipped, smirking arrogantly at her.

Lydia sighed. "Well, do as I say, not as I do."

"Right," Laila agreed, although reluctant. "Right..."

"You should ask a few more Jarls for advice," Bok mentioned out of the blue. "Perhaps convene a meeting?"

Laila shook her head. "No chance I can get any one of them together before Tullius gets here. I'm not even sure if Riften is the only Hold that's being targeted."

"It's not being targeted," Lydia stressed. "Relax about this. I'm sure it's just an inspection, that's all."

"Most of our city is Stormcloack sympathizers," Laila hushed. "I am a Stormcloack sympathizer. What would Tullius do, upon arriving in Riften?"

"I'll take care of it," Lydia assuaged. " _But_ only if it gets _that_ bad. I highly doubt it will however."

"I trust you Lydia," Laila emphasized. "Don't let me down. Please."

Lydia took her gaze in, mentally soothing her with her own confident expression.

"Always."

"Good," Laila agreed. "What should I do now?"

Lydia thought hard. The first logical step would be for her to pore over the letter mentioned, searching for any hints that Tullius was there for more than what he claimed he was there for – privately thinking, she didn't trust Laila's chain or authenticity of narration either. Secondly, the city would have to be warned – the Thieves' Guild would have to be notified, most of the city would have to take extra precaution, and worst of all – she would have to prepare for combat, if needs be.

"Do you think it could get _very_ bad?" Laila irritatedly rang out. "Bloodshed bad?"

Lydia mused over the possibility. "Unlikely, but not impossible."

Laila quivered, against burying her head in her hands.

Lydia groaned. "I said I'll take care of it – if it gets to that."

"Lydia, you may be the Dragonborn," Laila acknowledging to her great annoyance. "But you against thousands of Imperials? It's not like fighting a Dragon, you know. And without any companions..."

"I'll leave some people behind, don't worry," Lydia promised. "Enough to at least keep Riften floating."

"You're not going to stay?"

"Of course not," Lydia forced. "I'll stay here for a while to help you on your way – but like so many _damn_ people have said – "

She flashed a hard glance at Bok.

" - I'm the Dragonborn. I can't devote too much time to a hypothetical in Riften when there are actual problems: marauders, bandits, mages, dragons, other things I also have to deal with."

Lydia felt a note of sadness hit her voice, remembering the usual routine she had grown accustomed to over the years.

"But - " Laila began.

"It's for the best," Lydia cut across. "Trust me, I'll make sure you're fine before leaving. You said you trust me right?"

Laila nodded her head enthusiastically, as if the strength of her trust was conveying itself through the force of her head nod.

"Then keep trusting me."

"I always do."

Lydia stood up – not because she wanted to, but because she _had_ to. She always _had_ to.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Yay! The grand 100k!_

 _Yet another chapter! Bit of a less focused Brom section, but only to make way for some more important details of other narratives. Don't worry, he's still the focus!_

 _More details and ensuing plot complications incoming... I'm actually in a sort of "hyper-zen" writing mood these past couple of days, so I'm eager to write some more! Some of the new political and character elements I think, is really fun to write. Don't worry, the focus of the story (plot, characterization, character relationships) isn't changing either – just evolving._

 _More callbacks! Feel free to read past chapters._

 _I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_

 _P.S: I feel bad for Lydia. I write the story but still... weird change of power eh? (okay enough with the narcissism, end author's note)_


	30. Help Not Arrived (III)

**Help Not Arrived (III)**

* * *

A great number of things were going well.

By now, Brom had his routine down to almost an exact science – start off the day in the early dusk, tend to the perhaps hundreds of wheat seeds patiently sitting beneath soil and grass – then it was off to the Keep, taking orders from a variety of different officials. Brom found most of this to be dreadfully boring – paperwork checking, wheat harvest calculations, food preparation, doing errands for officials – in theory, he never knew how he worked from sunrise to sunset... it all seemed so simple when described in words.

But the true benefit, laying just beneath this onslaught of boredom, work, and mind-numbing stilnness – that pretty price of fifteen gold.

It had only been a week since he had started working, but fifteen gold every day added up significantly – he had purchased a small chest, two new sets of clothes, and even a celebratory pastry to top off his list of expenses. Even with all this new found luxury, he still had a cool hundred or so gold tucked safely away in a secret compartment on the bottom of his chest.

Brom still couldn't afford to live anywhere reasonable, so for the moment he chose to spend his nights in that same comfortable bedroll he had grown used to – or more recently, infilitrate Keeko's quiet little cottage at the end of Riften.

"I've said it before," Brom announced, lying down on the bottom bunk of a twin bed. "But I'll say it again – your place stinks."

Keeko nodded in bored agreement on the top bunk, Brom seeing a lazy hand wave away his complaints away.

Brom had been bothered by this contradiction for a long time. His Breton acquaintance had clearly put painstaking effort into making sure his home had a well-kept, managed look to it: dust was swept away from newly-shined floorboards, a few spare lanterns gave the space an odd, intimate illumination, stone walls were free of any cracks or obscenities – and most puzzling of all, Keeko's parents had never seemed to show up in any of these moments where Brom technically broke into their home – even if it was under their son's consent.

"How are your parents all right with this?" Brom noted, kicking the top bunk with sudden curiosity. "Don't they care about some weird Nord wheat farmer, erm... boy basically living in their home?

"Oh you again with the wheat," Keeko replied with annoyance, clearly engaged with reading something Brom couldn't see from the bottom bunk. "Shut up about the wheat. We get it. You farm wheat. Enough already."

"You're just jealous that I make more coin than you do," Brom noted with a mock-serious expression. "What do you make per show – oh that's right, you don't get paid at all."

"Build an audience first," the Breton noted. " _Then_ worry about charging them. You have to get the horse inside the stable to start riding it, right?"

Brom kicked the top bunk. "That doesn't make sense."

"You don't make any sense."

"Right."

Brom chuckled, staring at his fingers with a deep interest.

He had spent ten gold yesterday buying a bit of fire salts and a potato – exactly what the priest had indirectly told him to buy. A quick mixture and munch later, and Brom had noticed then that the shivering had stopped – for now. It had barely been a day since eating it, but from what Brom could remember, the priest didn't seem that bothered by the possibility of Kurdun. Hence, he had been able to rest easy that night – if it were not for the memories that irritated him once more.

 _Her_.

Brom was confident he would have stopped thinking about her a long time ago, since she had made no effort to come back to talk to him – and it had been practically a week (if not longer) since he had last seen her. He was a bit glad to see the memories slowly eluding him, but understood it would take time to forget everything. Every once or so often he would see something that would pesteringly bring up fresh memories again – but mostly, those feelings would die down after a while, as long as he distracted himself.

"Let's do something," Brom tried, getting up from the bunk and tapping Keeko on the shoulder. "It's my only day off, and we spent half of it just sitting in your room, staring at the ceiling."

"And talking about women," Keeko reminded him, still engrossed in his book. "Big, beautiful, well-bosomed – "

"This is why Alondria makes fun of you," Brom noted. "Because you are the most perverted piece of filth anyone has ever seen."

"The creepy Breton," Keeko dubbed. "Think that'll be a good stage name?"

"Keeko!"

He sat up annoyed, looking at Brom with his arms wide out.

"Well, what do you want to do?" Keeko asked. "You have any better ideas?"

"Maybe see the city a bit," Brom suggested. "Walk around and look for things to do."

"Like a panhandler?" Keeko compared, jumping down from the bunk before landing beside Brom.

"No," Brom cut. "What about Alondria? Didn't you say that her father's a Black-Briar?"

Keeko's smaller frame shoved into Brom's, buckling the taller Nord a bit. "Are you insane?"

Brom raised his eyebrows. "What's wrong with talking to them? I'm trying to know you both better, aren't I?"

"That doesn't mean getting yourselves killed in the process," Keeko hastily admonished. "It's not wise to engage with the Black-Briars. They're a dangerous lot, Brom."

"Oh my – fine," Brom gave up, allowing a small stare back at Keeko. "At least let's get out of your place. I'm getting suffocated in here."

"Ungrateful bastard," Keeko astutely noted.

 **. . .**

Brom had every intention of visiting the Black-Briar manor. The pretext of course, was just him whining to Keeko about needing some fresh air and sunshine – but finding the actual manor was a different problem.

They were both in the central marketplace. It was nearing noon, and the activities of Riften's residents were at full throttle. Most of the shopkeepers were actively hustling away with customers, legions of panhandlers roamed aimlessly to be quickly overwhelmed by guards, and homes anxiously let out crowds of chatting citizens – most of which, Brom noted were anything _but_ royalty. A few of them collided into him in their haste towards their activities, but they didn't seem to care.

But he was never sure whether the Black-Briars were royalty or not. From what Brom had gathered about the reclusive family, there were four primary members: matriarch Maven, sons Hemming and Sibbi, and daughter Ingun – certainly not names that Brom could see as connected to the Jarl, the Empire, or even the Stormcloaks. From deduction, Brom could assume that Alondria's father had to be one of the sons – he couldn't be Maven's husband (if she even had a spouse), because that would make him old enough to be Alondria's grandfather.

Brom wondered vaguely why she was so secretive about her family – he had received multiple invitations from Keeko to stay at his home for as long as he wanted, but never quite a word from Alondria – until now, that was.

"Cabbages for just two gold!" Keeko shouted beside him, chatting up a local marketplace merchant. "Brom! Cabbages – healthy and ripe, for just two gold! Come here!"

"No thanks," Brom withdrew, just barely hearing the Breton's voice over the random noises of the crowd. "I've had bad experiences with cabbages."

"What the – never mind. I'll take four please!"

Brom ignored Keeko for the most part, withdrawing a small map from the pocket of his now refurbished clothing – thick, comfortable black garments with a hood loosely attached. He studied the scroll of paper carefully.

He had to do some spatial organization. Currently they were both in the central marketplace – but Brom traced his eyes around the various locations, scanning for any mention of the Black-Briars.

"Fishery, Keep, Inn, no, no, no..."

"What?"

"I'm not talking to you moron!" Brom shouted back, earning a smug frown from Keeko before he turned back to haggling over those accursed cabbages. "Let's see..."

 _BM._

Two letters. Scrawled carelessly, almost thrown on – but the letters were there. They were written just adjacent to the Temple of Mara. Brom knew the location instantly – he had passed by it several times before.

It _had_ to stand for Black-Briar Manor. There was no other possibility.

"Keeko!" Brom announced, just straining above the random noises of people chatting. "Let's go! Get your damn cabbages!"

Keeko frowned sadly, but hastily shelled out a pouch of gold to the shopkeeper before stuffing three cabbages into his arms and ran to Brom's side.

"Okay," Keeko began. "Where now?"

Brom looked back at the map, mentally charting out the least populated path to the Manor.

"Follow me," Brom mentioned. "I want to show you this place I've got my eye on – looking to rent it soon."

To Brom, it was a completely horrible lie – he was nowhere near the level of where he could start being a tenant, but Keeko absobed it quickly.

"Is it nice?" the Breton questioned, following Brom weave though the crowd and out of the marketplace.

"Very," Brom again lied, suppressing a grin. "Trust me, your jaw will fall when you see this place."

Keeko opened his eyes in surprise. "Wow... I have high expectations now Brom."

Brom chuckled, satisified to see the crowd clearing out. He didn't want to attract too much attention to himself and Keeko while near the Manor – he still had an uneasy feeling around the Black-Briars, but curiosity was getting the best of him – as it always had.

"Oh you massive, bloody fool!"

Brom smiled as Keeko shouted at him, gripping his shoulders with tenacity as he saw the pristinely kept Manor fade into view.

"I told you we're not doing that!" Keeko roared, shaking Brom forcibly. "New place indeed! Why do I even believe you?"

Brom struggled away from his grip, condescendingly tapping Keeko on the head.

"Come along little fella," he smirked. "It'll be fine."

Brom turned to face the large Manor, ignoring Keeko's rumbling behind him.

The home itself was not really what Brom had imagined. It seemed just like any regular home in Riften, except it had an additional floor that a rather angry looking young man was perched on. He had a vial in his pocket that he would often check reluctantly, before putting it back into his pockets.

"This place is creepy," Keeko immediately sounded off. "Let's leave."

"How can you know someone for years and not know how their house is?" Brom retaliated, moving to the front door. "Come on!"

"No," Keeko replied, voice down to a whisper. "I want to live until I'm ninety, thank you very much."

"Coward," Brom chuckled, knocking plainly on the door. "Hello?"

He was not prepared for the readiness of the response. Immediately, the door was yanked back to reveal a fashionably dressed, goatee-sporting Nord with brooding features and a very tired expression on his face. Brom tried to see the commotion behind him, but the man's frame would not allow it.

"Are you with the Jarl?" he asked, smooth voice coming out with perfect politeness.

"Erm," Brom stuttered, practically feeling Keeko squirm several meters behind him. "No. But I just wanted to talk to Al – "

"If you are not any member of the Jarl's court, then bugger off."

This line was delivered with the exact same politeness, but Brom nevertheless intuitively stepped back as the door slammed shut. Brom stood there, staring at the wood paneling for a few moments.

"Well this has been very fun," Keeko broke in. "Had your fill? Let's just wait in the marketplace for a while – she usually shows up around night time anyway."

"Come on," Brom tiredly responded. "Where's your sense of wonder? Don't you have the slightest bit of curiosity how her family is?"

"One: they're the Black-Briars," Keeko delineated. "Two: no one angers the Black-Briars. Three: review steps one and two."

Brom shook his head, turning back to the door before knocking again. Keeko groaned behind him.

The door was yanked open again, and the exact same face appeared back to Brom, gentle facade of politeness slipping ever so slightly.

"I thought I made it clear to you," the man noted. "That we do not allow visitors into a private residence – unless they are with the Jarl."

"I am," Brom hastily added, seeing the man's hand fly to the door knob behind. "Erm – I just didn't think you had the eh – security clearance – to know about my, erm... position."

He could audibly hear Keeko slap his face with his palm at the fib. The man looked amused.

"Really?" he replied with the same smoothness. "How old are you boy – fourteen?"

Brom rolled his eyes. "I am the official wheat consultant for the Keep."

The man narrowed his gaze, bending down slightly to observe Brom more closely. "Really? A – what is it – wheat _consultant_?"

"Oh, you don't know?" Brom continued his fib. "I'm not surprised. Only the most trusted in Skyrim know about the position."

The man chuckled, a bit of gruffness slipping through. "You're a bad bluffer. And you need to leave – before I inform the authorities."

Brom waved his hands in the air in fake-defeat. "Oh well – I'll just have to tell Laila that I tried."

He turned his back to the man before he could make another move, smiling at the still-despondent Keeko – who very much looked as if he was stuck between two impulses to join in or run screaming away. To his satisfaction, Brom felt a hand hold him back from leaving the porch.

The man turned him around. "Wait... what is that supposed to mean? What did you – try to do here?"

Brom sighed fakely. "I promised Jarl Laila I would inspect the Black-Briar Manor for any... wheat defects."

Keeko slapped his forehead even harder. Brom pressed on.

"But as you clearly don't want to give me passage into your home, I'll just have to say to her that – "

"No no no!" the man hastily rebuked. "I – I was not aware of your positon, erm, _sir_! Follow me! Forgive the uh – insolence on my part."

The man disappeared into the home, leaving the door open. Brom turned back to Keeko, flashing the most arrogant grin he could possibly muster.

"He's a moron," Keeko whispered. "And if we set foot in that house – we'll only be asking for trouble."

Brom shrugged casually, stepping through the open doorway with confidence.

His first image was profoundly disturbed. Contrary to what he had imagined the inside of the Manor to be like, most of the fine paintings and drapery that were often found in luxury homes were absent – in fact, Brom was greeted by a central space that very much reminded him of a dungeon. It seemed as if tables and silverware had been cleared away, and a dim lantern had been lit – leaving outer edges of the room and stairway to the top floor in darkness. In the center was a circle of three basic, wooden chairs, with three women sitting atop – they had been discussing something with intense interest before Brom had stepped in.

In the chair closest to him and to his left was Jarl Laila, normally pleasant demeanor shocked by the newcomer. She seemed to be in a stressed state.

In the chair farthest from him, sat an unknown woman who Brom could not quite place – he had seen those arrogant, cocky features before wafting around Riften, and she was very old...

But in the chair to his right, sat a woman with long dark locks and a thick set of bronze armor, with a very different expression – one that Brom had seen countless times, and felt his throat catch itself as he saw it again.

"Brom?!" a voice came from behind him.

He turned back to see Alondria, having just emerged from a room yawning deeply before seeing him and Keeko. She looked towards the goatee-clad man with disappointment.

"Brom?" Jarl Laila repeated, staring at his shocked frame with confusion.

But he wasn't concerned about their reactions – only the slow, halted word delivered by the woman with dark, beautifully long locks. She looked healthier than when Brom had seen her in a long time.

"Brom."

It was quieter, much more resonant, and it didn't imply any shock or anger behind it – only a twinge of twisted regret.

"Hemming," Laila chimed in, addressing the goatee-clad man. "Why is – _he_ here? Don't you have farms to tend to boy?"

 _Lydia_ , and it had been so long since he had thought of her name... stared back at him, gaze practically burning right through his flesh. It wasn't cruel or judgemental, but it did seem vaguely reminiscent.

"He told me he was your wheat expert or something like that," Hemming responded, turning to the Jarl with fear. "Is he – not, your wheat expert then?"

Brom's eyes passed to the woman seated the farthest away from him, seated still too calmly while evaluating him. He felt uneasy just looking at that aged face, set atop a frail-looking body dressed in the finest garments Brom had seen in his lifetime. They were studded with rubies and pearls, and the woman herself didn't seem to be very much bothered by Brom's sudden appearance – rather, she seemed intensely intrigued.

"Of course not," the woman spoke, regal manner exuding through. "You've disappointed me once again."

Brom felt a chill run up his spine as she uttered those words – apparently, it affected Hemming as well, who shuddered and bowed his head in intense regret.

"Apologies Mother," Hemming replied, staring at the floor ashamed. "I will throw the straggler out."

 _Mother ?_

Brom instantly recognized Maven Black-Briar, staring coldly at him with hazy disinterest the more he looked at her.

"Why did you come here Brom?" Alondria broke in, nudging Brom hard in the elbow. "And drag this idiot with you..."

"Hello everyone," Keeko acknowledged, gulping audibly. "I'll be on my way out. Thank you!"

"You both are leaving, right now," Hemming forcefully stated, grabbing Brom by the scruff of the neck and pinching hard. "Get out, the whole lot of you!"

Brom yelped in pain as the crushing pressure shoved him forward. He collided into the retreating Keeko, who was taken off guard and nearly fell to the floor. Brom braced himself for being thrown out the door.

"No."

Hemming stopped, but Brom noted that the voice was not Maven's – but it was equally (if not more so) commanding, forcing the large man to come to a halt just short of the doorway. Brom wriggled out of his grip, turning back to see Lydia standing upright and staring at both Keeko and himself. Brom was careful to force any gratitude out of his mind.

"Apologies also, Dragonborn," Hemming tersely responded. "But as this is my mother's house..."

"They will stay, Maven," Lydia forced off, looking back at the still seated and serenely calm Black-Briar. "Unless you want to escalate the situation more."

Brom could just make out the edge of those chapped, old lips turn upward to a smirk before Maven nodded at Hemming.

"It's all right son," Maven reassured, looking at Alondria with contempt. "Alondria, take your father out for a drink. Get him something on me."

Brom had never seen Alondria fulfill a request as quickly as she did.

"Come daddy," Alondria warily advised, tugging at Hemming's collar. She turned to Brom, briefly looking at him then Keeko with varied caution.

"Be careful, and don't do anything stupid."

Keeko immediately nodded. Brom forced his stare down to the ground, hearing footsteps then a door shutting behind him.

"Your move now Lydia," Maven announced. "Do you wish to include these boys in the conversation we were having before they rudely interrupted us?"

Brom narrowed his eyes. There were very few people in Skyrim who would dare to break out of formalities and so casually refer to the Dragonborn by her name – and it was usually people she was familiar with. But this usage seemed derogatory, almost scathingly pasted on to convey a sense of ownership...

"No," Lydia immediately replied. "But I will speak with Brom alone."

Brom opened his mouth instantly in self-defence, recognizing where this would lead.

"No need Dragonborn! I will be on my way!"

Keeko nodded his head furiously, turning back to the door with anxiety. Brom knew he wanted to leave, but both of them felt a self-preserving instinct telling them to stay until Maven dismissed them.

"Stay, Brom," Lydia forced, then lightened her tone as she saw Brom's dejected expression. "Please. Just a moment – I need to talk about wheat."

Brom wanted to slap a palm to his forehead like Keeko, but settled for letting his head droop towards the floor.

"Fine," Brom spat, rolling his eyes.

"You ought to show the Dragonborn some more respect," Laila remarked, standing up. "Insolent boy! Didn't your parents teach you any manners?"

Brom bit his lip, shushing back a retort before Lydia motioned for him to follow her. Hesitantly, he obeyed.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Not the most action-packed, but read disclaimer below..._

 _So originally I wrote this chapter and the future one (upcoming) as one chapter, but then realized it would probably clock in 6-7k+ words if I uploaded it as one! So, I found a pretty reasonable divison in the story and uploaded it as a separate chapter. Let me know if this approach works, I don't want to bore you with mammoth length chapters... (pun intended)_

 _But yes, more complications and story development to continue._

 _I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	31. Help Not Arrived (IV)

**Help Not Arrived (IV)**

* * *

He followed her down a nearby staircase, feeling the weight of several realizations hit him instantly. Most prominently – as he strolled down the dark steps, following that mound of black, swishing hair – he was under serious danger of relapsing, or even worse, being tempted to talk to her again in the same manner as he had done before. It had only been a week, but everything he worked for seemed to be riding on how he would respond to this; barely more than a hundred gold saved up, and he was already under threat for going back to old habits. Not that he would describe her as an old habit, but he knew that the more time he spent in her vicinity – the more he would just be setting himself up for an idle pursuit of the hedonistic things he had found so much joy in before.

 _Poetry,_ Brom quipped.

"In here."

Her voice as usual, characteristically soft but leading – guided him into an empty, cramped doorway that lead to what Brom understood as a cellar.

A few barrels of mead were stacked on top of each other, with a few crates and boxes lying lazily across the stone floor. There was no illumination at first, but after Lydia lit a torch stance nearby with a fire spell, Brom could make out rugged, thick walls and a relatively low ceiling. He walked to a corner of the room, turning back to see her view him with absolute neutrality.

"Who's the boy you were with?" she asked, inner eyebrows tilted upward and slanted, with a genuinely inquisitive smile plastered across. "Did you make a friend?"

She could not help herself, but Brom still frowned as he saw her mouth slowly expand, hesitantly into a nervous grin.

"No," Brom lied immediately, determined to obscure any truth from her. "He was a beggar boy who followed me in."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "And Maven's granddaughter, Alondria – she knew your name."

"I see her at the Keep sometimes when I work," Brom covered. "We talked occasionally."

"I see," Lydia slowly responded, keeping the eyebrow up. "And you came here because – you had a wheat job to talk to the Jarl about?"

"That's right," Brom confirmed wrongly.

"You knew where to find her?"

"Yes."

"You know where to find a woman who deliberately made her location private at this time so she could meet with the Black-Briars?"

He hadn't expected that. Lydia seemed to be increasingly more amused by his string of collapsing fibs.

"She told me," Brom quietly tried, although he knew how stupid he was beginning to sound.

Lydia chuckled, shaking her head. He knew she didn't believe a single word, but he felt some odd pleasure in constantly resisting her – in a way, it felt rebellious and right, and self-protective in a certain perspective.

"I made friends the same way," Lydia recalled. "When I was around your age – I was a bit of a charming jerk, to be frank. Made plenty of followers just off my – alluring wit."

Brom understood she was trying to gently compliment him, perhaps reduce the awkward tension – but he was determined to keep it there, and more than ever wanted Maven to come down and order him out of the house.

"My only question is this – "

She moved much closer, enclosing his personal space so much that he was face to face with her.

" - how long are you going to keep this up?"

Brom avoided focusing on her eyes, keeping his gaze loose and unrepentant.

"Keep what up?"

Lydia sighed. "Working a damn wheat job. Thinking you're all – _adultish_ now. Making new friends out of spite."

"It wasn't out of spite!" he eagerly refuted, but cursed himself as he had given engagement at last to her. "I've moved on, okay? I don't need you, or any of your rotten lifestyle anymore!"

"What rotten lifestyle?" Lydia questioned, waving her hands in the air. "Battling? Killing my foes? That's what I do!"

"Well I don't!" Brom tried, fully aware he was treading down the exact same path as before. "I've seen what your life gets people! I don't want any of it."

"Oh shut up Brom," Lydia whispered in mild exasperation. "If you can't be honest with me, at least be honest with yourself."

"I am!" Brom roared, feeling two sections of his mind clash. "I am! I am! I am!"

Lydia smiled a bit, opening her mouth to say something before closing it again.

"What?" Brom immediately demanded. "What?"

Lydia shook her head.

"Tell me!"

"Nothing."

"Lydia!"

"It's just," Lydia began, observing his anger with restraint. "When you get all upset and fuss and your hair starts falling around your face, you look a bit cu – "

Brom silenced her with a deathly stare, forcing her to shut her mouth again.

"I am not doing _this_ , right now and here," Brom responded desperately. "Please. Let's just go our separate ways."

"I find that hard to believe Brom," Lydia returned to her serious tone. "I've thought about this. You're only being reactive in the moment – something triggered you to think this way, and now you're going this way just for the hell of it!"

"Am not," Brom denied, feeling his stomach churn. "I decided to do this. I did."

"Sure," Lydia sarcastically agreed. "By the way, did you notice? You're the same height as me now."

Brom groaned. "Stop it. Stop doing that."

Lydia scrunched her nose. "Doing what?"

"All the – _connecting_ things. Stop trying to get me to forgive you. It's just so – weird."

"Look Brom," Lydia suddenly began with gravitas. "Can you hear me out for a second?"

"No."

"I understand your life was ridiculously difficult when you were with me," Lydia noted. "I understand that. I do. But you grew so much while – not under me, but with me. You got stronger. You became resilient. I've seen you – "

"I'm not in the mood for one of your never-ending speeches," Brom hastily cut short, still avoiding looking at her eyes. "I only got hurt and diseased, thanks to you."

"Is it over?" Lydia suddenly inquired with genuine curiosity. "Did your hand stop shivering?"

"Yes, no thanks to you again," Brom used, trying to needle at her psyche and guilt. "Just took some potatoes and fire salts. Easy."

Lydia nodded slowly in agreement.

"But that's not the point," Brom returned. "I'm just never going to be a part of that li – "

He stopped, looking at her eyes for the first time.

All these moments, he had expected to her to have perhaps a playful twinkle, perhaps a snarky edge, or at worst – an amused gaze. But the eyes that he saw were downcast and staring in defeat – there was no glistening or tears, but they felt looked dead inside and burned, as though the very life had been sucked out of them.

Brom gulped down a voice crack, returning to his previous statements.

" - that lifestyle. I mean, it's too dangerous for me, and you're a bad influence, and – "

This time he stopped completely, but only because she had placed a hand over his mouth. His first instinct was to rage and punch her hand away, perhaps make a big enough scene for Laila and Maven upstairs to become concerned and begin rushing down – but no such action took place. Rather, Brom stood petrified in his spot, unable to speak as she moved closer.

"I wish I had the courage to tell you exactly what you mean to me," Lydia forced, looking directly through his eyes. "Maybe one day I will. But for now – "

She removed her hand and hovered it around his cheek, almost bringing herself to make contact before reluctantly moving it back down to her sides.

"Sorry," Lydia whispered, turning her head down. "I won't – try to talk about this anymore. You can leave."

Brom watched her step slowly to the side, motioning a clear path of exit out of the basement. The idle chatting of Laila and Maven could be heard from upstairs now.

"But Brom," Lydia broke his gait out – and he could tell she had clearly restrained herself from touching him again.

"You know I'll be here for a few more days, right? In – in case you change your erm, mind."

Brom stared coldly back, frustrated by all the guilt that was accumulating – none of it justified, but it stayed there all the same.

"Why would I change my mind?" he proclaimed, anger drawing. "I don't need you. I'm doing just fine."

Lydia didn't appear to react to this – at least Brom couldn't tell solely by looking at her face.

"Right," she slowly apologized. "You don't. But just in – "

"No," Brom finished.

He walked up the steps, completely ignoring every instinct that told him to at least pause and wait for her reaction before leaving – but that was being too merciful.

She had done enough damage – and staying longer only meant he would be further tempted to start loosening his mental securities around her – she had that effect, but it was more important for Brom to force past that and protect all he had worked for. Over the course of a week he had built up significant resistance to relapsing into his old habits – but she had trashed most of the barriers within the span of a few short minutes.

Perhaps he was being overdramatic, but only Brom knew how much effort had gone into preserving his own sense of identity and security – and only he knew what the price was for hanging around the Dragonborn.

"Hello boy," came Maven's characteristically smooth voice. "Had a good conversation with her then?"

Brom just realized he was in the ominos room again. He looked back at the flight of stairs downward, slightly fearful to see Lydia not behind him – likely still in the basement contemplating.

"She said I could leave," Brom tersely mentioned, keeping his eyes away from the equally confusing Maven.

"Well," Maven began. "If the _Dragonborn_ says you can leave..."

"You can leave, Brom," Jarl Laila authoritatively commanded. "But you and I will have a long talk concerning lying about your position in my Court – after I am done here."

Brom didn't care. From every experience he had with the Jarl, there was nothing pointing to her temparent being fiesty or unpredictable. The worst he would get would be a brief lecture, and then perhaps a tiny pay cut, but nothing more than that. He nodded briefly, walking quickly to the door before thrusting open the door to feel immediately cool air hit his face.

"Thank Talos for the breeze," Brom observed to himself, holding a hand up to keep the brunt of sunlight at bay from reaching his eyes. "At least it's nice out here."

He relaxed even more as the door shut behind him. Brom walked forward a few paces, quickly scanning for Alondria and Keeko close to the marketplace – spotting them quickly before becoming confused once more.

The two figures were still there – but Brom also noted the slightly taller frame in the center of his two companions, chatting with both of them with fierce enthusiasm. The man, dressed in loose, cheap grey garments with a plain-looking face, was wavering back and forth in an amused fashion – presumably enjoying Alondria bickering with Keeko.

"Hey," Brom called out, seeking a reaction from the unknown man as well. "I'm back."

Alondria was the first to react, immediately walking closer to Brom before delivering a hard slap across his cheek.

"Idiot!" she roared, quickly trying to follow with another slap before Keeko bear-hugged her from behind. "Urgh! Let me go, you stupid midget!"

Feeling offended, Keeko let go again just as Brom recovered from the first slap. As her hand swung once more, it was stopped by the man in cheap rags – who had just caught up to her.

"Don't need to hit him again," the man admonished, holding back Alondria's still struggling digits. "I'm certain he was scared well enough by Mother."

"Quiet Uncle," Alondira hushed, forcibly removing her hand from his grasp. "You sound just like Ingun."

Brom was caught off-guard.

 _Alondria's Uncle? Mother? Ingun? That meant..._

"You must be the second son of Maven's then," Brom immediately introduced, taking an odd liking to the man. "Sibbi Black-Briar, am I right?"

Brom offered his hand in shaky amusement, but was relieved as the man promptly took the hand and shook it firmly.

"That's me," Sibbi replied, winking at Keeko for a moment for reasons Brom didn't understand. "I think I've seen you before. I was on the balcony when you first came in."

Brom recalled the moment, recognizing his face once more. "Yes, that was me – "

"I don't think I've met you before, closely though," Sibbi retaliated. "I've been around these two idiots for a long time now..."

He winked again at Keeko, who fakely laughed before kneeing Sibbi right in the shins – he couldn't kick more up than that, considering he was at least half a foot shorter than the young Black-Briar.

Brom smiled. This Black-Briar didn't seem to be following the usual trend of frightening thugs he had come to associate Maven's family with.

"Confused by me, eh?" Sibbi broke in, reading Brom's face. "Yeah... Mother tells me I'm nothing but a drunken philanderer – or did she mention me at all?"

"Not a word," Brom recalled.

"Hmph," Sibbi huffed. "Makes sense. I've always been the disappointing one in the family – well, that and my sister Ingun, perhaps even Hemming now that I think about it..."

"Don't make fun of my daddy," Alondria harshly replied, but it had a degree of hesitancy to it. "Even if he is currently drowning himself in mead..."

"Point is," Sibbi continued. "Pretty much everyone but Mother are bumbling fools."

Brom smiled once more, shaking his head in light agreement.

"Sib, mention the thing we were talking about," Keeko interrupted.

The Black-Briar was taken aback at first, but realization hit his face before he slowly withdrew a small vial Brom had briefly glimpsed earlier – it was purple and had an odd, glistening aftershine to it.

"Really, now?" Alondria asked vaguely. "It's just noon."

"I'm sure everyone needs to relax, right?" Sibbi explained, shaking the bottle a bit. "I think I have enough for four – if we don't get greedy, that is."

Keeko laughed, smirking one corner of his mouth.

"What is it?" Brom questioned, enchanted by the glow. "Some kind of super-strong Ale?"

Sibbi chuckled, laying a loose hand on Brom's back. "You're new here, aren't you?"

Keeko shook his head. "Skooma, Brom."

Several seconds of pause.

Brom turned to Keeko anxiously, moving away from the bottle with distaste. "No."

"Brom..."

"No! Absolutely not!"

"Look here, erm, Brom," Sibbi interrupted, laying the same hand again on Brom's back. "It's great stuff. Don't believe all the elders saying it's wrong – its actually quite amazing once you take a deep puff – "

"I'm not doing something so stupid," Brom immediately bit back. "I don't care if it's dangerous or not. That's illegal. And you being a Black-Briar and all..."

"Bugger off with the Black-Briar stuff," Sibbi hastily objected. "Listen to me. Take just one puff, and you'll enjoy the rest of the day. Trust – "

"A man I just knew existed a minute ago?" Brom asked with contempt.

Keeko sighed. "It's okay Sib. If he doesn't want to do it, then let's not make him."

Sibbi seemed to get discouraged by this, but removed his hand. Alondria pursed her lips for a brief moment to contemplate, but then excitedly tapped Sibbi on the shoulder.

"So where are we doing it?"

Sibbi smilled, then began a lengthy conversation with the other two.

Brom watched them talk, barely hearing anything over the sound of his own mind. This had come as a genuine surprise to him – and by far was the most jeopardizing thing he could do for himself. It made no sense logically – he was regularly in the presence of many guards while he worked, and coming to them smelling of Skooma was perhaps the quickest way to lose his job – but on the other hand, taking a little "puff", would surely do him no harm... or –

"Sibbi," Brom interrupted again, disappointed to see their faces brighten up in expectation. There would be no turning back now. "Is it – is it... dangerous?"

Sibbi merely laughed, shoving Brom to his side while he walked away from the marketplace, with Alondria and Keeko in tow.

 **. . .**

"So, our proposition still stands then?"

Lydia wasn't hearing any of it. She sat in that chair glumly, completely disappointed with how this day had been going. Her last chance to repair things – and she had screwed it up again. It hurt more than she could let out – at least in present company.

"Lydia?"

Laila angrily poked her in the chestplate, startling her. "Are you going to weigh in, or not?"

Lydia came back to reality, seeing an angry Jarl Laila seated beside her in a dimly lit room, with a supremely confident Maven Black-Briar smirking craftily at her from a chair seated in front. Her legs were crossed in the most arrogant manner possible, and Lydia almost snarled as soon as she heard her voice.

"You work things over with Tullius," Lydia mentioned with disdain. "And make sure he doesn't ruin the Hold – then we can pay you."

"It doesn't work like that Lydia," Maven refused.

"The hell? It does now."

"Calm down Lydia," Laila advised, clearly anxious. "Look Maven – we're in a tight situation here... there's no way we can afford to pay you anything significant immediately – I mean a couple thousand gold or so would be all right, but a hundred thousand gold would – "

"That's my price," Maven flatly stated. "If you don't like it – I'm sure you can count on _Lydia_ to help you through this turbulent crisis."

Lydia _hated_ it more than ever when she used her name. It was almost as painful as being called Dragonborn all the time.

"You and I both know that fighting Tullius and his army will just lead to countless lives lost," Lydia broke in. "Needless bloodshed. Don't you care about protecting the innocent... the good people of Riften?"

"I care about profit and loss," Maven truthfully described. "And I said it before those two idiots came in – but you people still don't know anything. Tullius has only promised an inspection – nothing more – and the letter might even be forged... "

"No, it has the Imperial stamp, and we both know he's looking for Stormcloaks!" Laila interjected, annoyed. "Typically Imperial, political language! Tullius will rip the Hold apart – even if he has to pick on the tiniest of items..."

"Why would he do that?" Maven angrily objected. "What would be the purpose in destabilizing an entire Hold?"

Lydia scoffed. "Weird. That's what I said."

"As did I," Laila agreed. "But just because we don't know his motives – doesn't mean he won't try."

Maven groaned. "I don't care Laila. Either give me what I want, or get out of my house and stop wasting my time."

Laila grew angry, but forced it down her throat.

"Do you feel powerless, my Jarl?" Maven smirked. "Sad to see your power – squirm before your eyes?"

"Enough," Lydia brutely cut off. "You disrespect her again, and – "

"And what?" Maven administered. "You'll kill me? Isn't that your default solution to everything?"

Lydia smiled. "Only when I feel particularly annoyed."

Maven let out a full grin, exposing several incredibly sharp teeth – Laila recoiled at the sight of those ungaily whites, but Lydia only saw it as intimidation – nothing more.

"Let's talk about this some other time," Lydia pressed, feeling a headache slowly grasp her. "I've been having a bad day. I'll be more collected tomorrow."

"I'm not going to change my position," Maven tersely restated. "A hundred thousand gold – or I don't even let you through my front door to talk."

"But you're okay with talking tomorrow right?" Lydia angrily asked. "Can you wait a day to get your hundred thousand?"

Laila objected. "Lydia, the Keep doesn't have a spare hundred – "

"Let me do the talking," Lydia cut her off. "Tomorrow, same time Maven?"

The old woman smiled. "Why not? I have nothing to lose, don't I?"

Lydia had to agree with her on that. She turned to Laila, lightly assuaging her by rubbing the side of her arm slowly. The Jarl of Riften meanwhile, sat motionless in her seat, keeping her head downcast and her hopes dim.

 **. . .**

"Farengar!"

"Enough, Balgruuf."

Balgruuf obeyed. He had been calling for Farengar needlessly, often with great gusto – only to discover that he had drawn his attention in vain. Nevertheless, the wizard made his way over to Balgruuf, sighing immeasurably again.

"You want to go back, don't you?"

Balgruuf groaned. "I need to see my people! I don't even know if my – my family made it out alive!"

"I guarantee you they were escorted elsewhere," Farengar guessed. "And if you want my true advice – then we must press forward. Get to the nearest Hold, not any small village – and find out what the hell is happening. Find your family as well."

"Whiterun is burning, Farengar!" Balgruuf vividly recalled. "My people and my city are perishing in flames! And we're stuck in the middle of the night, running like cowards in some random forest!"

On cue, the rumble of thunder and grassbeds croaked above and underneath Balgruuf. A small creek was glistening in the distance, foliage covering every aspect of his sight. He leaned on a thick oak tree.

"Morthal is the closest Hold from here, other than Windhelm – and that's too dangerous," Farengar tried again. "Either we get there and recruit more – or we go back and almost certainly die!"

Balgruuf was about to utter a retort, but stopped as several thudding footsteps could be heard behind him. They were incredibly heavy, and appeared to be approaching from every direction.

"On your guard Farengar," he hushed, pulling out his sword, frustrated to have minimal vision in midnight – the bushes and grass acting as natural camoflauge for the creatures around him. "I hear something."

"What is it?" Farengar inquired, preparing two fire spells in each hand. "Bandits?"

"Bandits," Balgruuf assumed, before letting out a wide-eyed groan. "Or not."

At least twenty figures – riders with steel armor atop large horses – boomed into view. They quickly encircled the two of them, readying several arrows their way and aimed directly at Balgruuf and Farengar's vital organs – by the time they would be able to even issue an attack, the arrows would tear right through bone and muscle.

"Stand down, the both of you!"

Balgruuf was puzzled. The voice was undeniably commanding and authoritative, but he felt no distant fear from hearing it – and also recognized the Imperial stamp laying across the man's chestplate.

 _Imperial Armor._

"I'm Jarl Balgruuf, of Whiterun," Balgruuf stated, hands in the air. "You are all of the Imperial Army, yes?"

The man directly in front of Balgruuf withdrew his bow after a second of contemplation, signaling the others to do so as well.

"Apologies Jarl Balgruuf," the man remembered, removing his helmet to reveal a darkened, aged face with stern features. "I didn't know you were here – erm, strolling through the woods, so far from Whiterun."

Balgruuf recognized the face immediately. "Tullius?"

The man nodded slowly, smiling gently at the recognization.

"You have to help us," Farengar broke in, pushing past Balgruuf. "Whiterun's been attacked."

Tullius opened his eyes in disbelief. "What? When? How?"

"We know nothing," Balgruuf gruffly stated. "Happened a few nights back. We've been on the move ever since – on our way to Morthal apparently, trying to recruit some help."

"How can the entire Hold have fallen?" Tullius immediately questioned. "Whiterun's massive. There isn't any Stormcloak batallion large enough to – "

"We're not sure it was the Stormcloaks," Balgruuf mentioned. "They had a Giant with them. No group I've seen does that."

Tullius, shocked and out of breath, bowed his head to the ground.

"We were just coming back from Ivarstead," he noted. "I have around a hundred men with me – the rest are sleeping nearby while we hold watch. Lucky we found you – we were actually heading to Whiterun for a routine inspection, actually."

"Good thing we ran into you first then," Balgruuf reasoned. "What's our plan, Tullius? You're more experienced in war than me."

"Relax and sleep first," Tullius tried, dismayed to see Balgruuf rolll his eyes. "Even for just a few hours my Jarl. Catch your breath. We can be decisive and combative in the morning."

Balgruuf grumbled, but acknowledged his own body's wearying sense of pace as Farengar happily collapsed to the grass bed, snores coming quickly through.

"He's a quick one," Tullius noted, chuckling at Farengar's peacefully sleeping body.

"Yes," Balgruuf simply restated. "Very quick."

* * *

 **A/N**

 _But didn't the letter say Riften, not Whiterun? All part of the story..._

 _But enough of the self-congratulatory remarks... the story goes on! Hopefully everything is being kept track of (story continuities and such) well, so nothing seems a bit off..._

 _I think this is also a good point in the story to note how it's branching off a bit into bigger themes – it may not be clear at first, but it hopefully will be. But rest assured, the two characters at the beginning of this whole adventure are still the two main characters, the focus will still be on them, and they will supply pretty much the bulk of the drama, narrative, and "push" behind this "unsung bard tale"._

 _I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	32. Help Not Arrived (V)

**Help Not Arrived (V)**

* * *

"Get up."

No response.

"Lydia."

"Egjnje?"

"Stop blubbering woman and get out of bed."

"Bok?"

"Lydia. Get up."

She stirred, blinking twice to make sure she wasn't stuck in a dream. Bok smiled, patting her on the back as she rotated her head upwards. She had an awful stomach ache, and Bok had advised her repeatedly to lay on her back instead of her belly – yet she had disobeyed him. The couch was comfortable though, so she needn't be ungrateful.

"Last day, huh?" Lydia hazily responded, getting into an upright position and yanking the sheets off her long nightwear.

"You pushed for it," Bok reminded her. "You can stay at my place for as long as you want but – you wanted to leave today, remember?"

Lydia chuckled. "I've been taking advantage of your good nature for too long."

She stood up. "It's only fair."

A pause. Lydia stood in the bright morning sunlight, smiling gently at Bok. The gargantuan Orc, already dressed in working garments, returned the smile and blinked every odd second or so. The living room seemed aware, casting soft shadows across the ground with drapery and tall bookshelves.

"I'm going to miss you," Bok began.

Lydia meditated on these words, immediately wrapping her arms around that thick neck.

"As will I," she concurred. "Oh my – are you tearing up?"

Bok halted his sniffling. "No. It's my eyes. I have a condition."

Lydia laughed, letting go of his neck as he simultaneously unwrapped himself from her considerably smaller frame.

"What's your plan now?" Bok asked, tracking her as she moved around the room, collecting spare parts of armor, food, and a few pouches of gold – before stuffing them into a massive, tattered knapsack.

"I'll spend today and the night working with Laila in the Keep," Lydia immediately rattled off. "After a good night's rest, I'll be leaving while the sun is still young – with a good horse and any men willing to join me."

"Where will you be going?"

"Back to Whiterun," Lydia muttered in slight disappointment. She felt everything was becoming cyclical. "Resume my Dragonborn duties – killing bandits, fighting Dragons, liberating Skyrim!"

She added a dramatic flair with her hands, earning a chuckle from Bok.

"You really think Tullius will take down Riften?" Bok aked suddenly. "I don't want to relocate if he does."

"Don't worry old friend," Lydia immediately assuaged, grasping Bok by the shoulders. "I'll figure it out. I'll make sure that Riften will be safe when I leave – even if Maven has to be used."

"I've always hated that old bitch," Bok spat. "You're seriously considering her offer?"

"I don't know what to think right now," Lydia honestly responded. "Only time will tell."

Bok nodded. "And Brom?"

Another pause. Lydia brought her gaze down to the floor, seemingly in a search for an adequate response to give back.

"I think we're over," she whispered, voice shaking. "I tried Bok. I really did."

"What?" the Orc replied in confusion. "The boy's still upset? After all this time? It's been nearly two weeks!"

Lydia halted, just remembering how quickly time had passed. "He's not upset I suppose. He's just – changed. Can we talk about something else now?"

"Sure, right," Bok repeated. "You'll get through it Lydia. You've lost people before."

"Not like this," she still agonized, knowing better. "One doesn't choose to die – but he chose to leave."

"Yes," Bok silently agreed. "Yes he did."

Lydia hugged him again. "Bok – I won't forget you."

"I know you won't."

And that's not who she was anyway.

"Thanks Bok – really, for everything."

The Orc flashed a toothy grin.

"Always."

 **. . .**

"So, how stong is this stuff?"

Sibbi kept walking forward – jumping over the fence, _his_ fence, idly trampling across a couple of seeds – thankfully not planted yet.

"Sibbi!" Brom shouted. "Don't destroy the crops!"

"Relax wheat-boy," Keeko sounded off, repeating the motion by hopping over the fence – but he was careful to not trample over the seeds. "Your crops and yourself will both be very _high_ , if you know what I mean?"

Alondria scowled. "That's the dumbest joke I've ever heard – and I've heard many dumb jokes."

"Shut it."

"No – and don't you have a performance tonight?" Alondria quipped with anticipation. "Want us to fill in the audience again?"

"Bugger off."

Brom kept his focus on the Black-Briar, who was proudly sitting in the center of the bag of seeds – right on top of _his_ bedroll.

"You never answered my question," Brom added, taking a seat next to the three figures. "How strong is Skooma?"

Sibbi bared his teeth, smirking childishly. "That trash you get from the Argonians? Won't even make you dizzy. My stuff – strong enough to send a man to Sovngarde."

"And considering Brom's just a wee boy trying for his first time," Alondria cooed, pinching his cheeks mockingly. "I'm sure he'll go to Sovngarde _and_ back."

"Sibbi?" Brom continued, ignoring Alondria's teasing.

"I think you'll be fine," the Black-Briar returned. "It might be a bit weird for a first-timer – but you'll grow to love it."

Brom chuckled, just then feeling a wave of new-found regret hit him.

"Having second thoughts?" Keeko administered. "You can still back out you know."

And Brom could – and as he looked at each pair of eyes, they seemed non-judgemental towards him. And he had to remember – _he_ wanted this. He said yes. It was his decision – not a consequence. And he had _chosen_ to do this with three people he trusted – right on the only piece of land he could relucantly calll his own.

"Odd to do this in the morning," Sibbi noted, bringing up a hand to deflect fresh sunlight – just emergent from parting clouds overhead. "But what the hell..."

Sibbi uncorked the small vial he had with him, flushing around the contents for a few moments, taking in the sight of it with a discerning eye. He would pause every so often, tracking the swishing with intense interest before letting the fluid settle once more. After a few seconds of this, he extended the entire vial to Brom.

"Beginners first," Sibbi encouraged. "Bottoms up Brom."

Brom gingerly handled the vial, grabbing it lightly before looking back at Sibbi.

"It's funny," he remarked. "I just met you. And we're already, erm – "

Keeko sighed. "Don't overthink this Brom – just do what comes naturally to you. As soon you do it, we'll do it."

Brom looked at Alondria, then Sibbi, then back to Keeko. Their faces were all appreciative, perhaps even kind to a certain degree.

"See you all on the other side," Brom joked, tipping the vial upward to feel cool liquid hit his tongue.

And it began sinking – fast. Unlike ordinary liquids like water or ale, this seemed to be purge right through his throat with no effort at all, immediately hitting the bottom of his stomach before any gulping motion could occur – and it sat there. Instantly Brom felt drowsiness hit him in waves.

"Whatsh in thish?" he slurred out.

Keeko grinned. He grabbed the vial from Brom's swaying hand, downing a large portion before handing it off immediately to the other two. Brom watched lazily as the three figures in front of him similiarly began to sway, but their eyes seemed oddly focused.

"First – time's always a charm," Sibbi noted, voice much slower than usual. He was observing Brom with an odd delight streaking across his face. "How we doing folks?"

Alondria was the quickest to respond, although her voice was significantly slower as well.

"Great – absolutely great..."

"Nonsense," Keeko piped up, voice strangely "We're doing phenomenal. Extraordinary. Fantastical – "

Brom held his hands to his head, trying to stop from keeling over. "Eyyyysh... Keeshko... fantashticalsh isn't a wordsh..."

"Nothing you're saying makes sense Brom," Alondria methodically responded, face practically filled with relaxation. "

"I agree," Sibbi broke in. "I agree with everything!"

Keeko let out a slow laugh. Brom removed his hands, feeling his neck sag side to side aimlessly as the other three watched him in light amusement. He was certain that they had either experienced a lesser dose or at least had some tolerance to the stuff – he was here losing the usage of all his senses, and there they saw, in his humble little farm – viewing him with all the pride that a family would have with their highest-performing heir.

"Sosh – doessh your mother hatesh you?" Brom managed out, pointing a wagging finger at Sibbi before it sank downward again. Muscular control was becoming immensely difficult – there was no pain, but the euphoria was so intense that he wanted to simply sit there and experience it undisturbed.

"No she doesn't," Sibbi noted morosely. "All Black-Briars are useful to Mother... she sometimes assigns me to consult with various scum and lowlife for easy labor in our Ale breweries..."

"And why is that?" Brom repeated lucidly for the first time.

"Probably because I'm a lowlife," Sibbi reflected. "I'm the least successful Black-Briar, as you can probably tell."

"You're better than my father," Alondria observed. "All daddy does is kiss Maven's ass for positions in the Brewery – stupid, immoral man he is..."

"Don't speak about your father that way," Sibbi reprimanded, now rocking back and forth with a wide smile. "Hemming _is_ a sycophant, but he's at least a predictable sycophant..."

"Whash a pshycofant?" Brom blubbered.

"Stange to hear the word 'immoral' come from your mouth Alondria," Keeko retaliated. "Especially considering your current – state."

"Brom, I didn't get to ask you," Sibbi quickened his voice. "Do you and the Dragonborn, know each other or something?"

Brom felt his head swell with annoyance, losing the precious euphoria that was dazing him for so long.

"No," he firmly spoke out.

"Really?" Alondria asked. "When did this happen Sibbi?"

"I was listening from the top floor," Sibbi responded. "Also heard her ask to talk to Brom – privately."

"It was about wheatsh suppliesh," Brom quickly covered. "Shesh intensely interested in wheatsh."

"Of course she is," Keeko sarcastically bit. "The Dragonborn – slayer of Dragons, and farmer of wheat!"

Brom unexpectedly let out a wide chuckle, startling everyone.

"Don't you have work now?" Alondria inquired.

Brom let this mull over. "Yesh I do. Fantashtical."

 **. . .**

Jarl Balgruuf was not prone to bouts of anxiety.

But today he was. He and Farengar had spent a few days camped out with Tullius – who had promised to send a few scouts to Whiterun's vicinity to see how destroyed it was.

Their reports were shocking, to say the least.

From what Balgruuf had learned, most of the Hold was no longer accessible by any creature (save Alduin himself). A thick black wall had been built around the entire city, barricading it from outside contact – but more importantly, also uncovering everything that was occurring within. Tullius' scouts had informed them however, that the Hold was constantly being monitored by a group of freakish warriors with Gants in tow – several thousand strong in number. This, compared to Tullius' paltry hundred or so warriors made reclaiming Whiterun virtually impossible – at least without help from another Hold.

Balgruuf had desperately questioned the scouts whether there was any indication that the citizens of Whiterun had made it out before it all came collapsing down – but they only responded by staring down at the ground.

"We don't know who the enemy is," Tullius repeated, waving away the scouts from his private tent, Balgruuf and Farengar seated on two small chairs. "This is bad Balgruuf."

"I couldn't agree more," Balgruuf mentioned. "Farengar, what should we do?"

"Regroup, obviously," Farengar repeated. "I was thinking perhaps – "

"Riften is the only Hold close enough, and well-staffed enough to spare men for a full battle," Tullius regrouped. "I don't see us saving Whiterun without more warriors."

"I was thinking about recruiting the Dragonborn," Balgruuf reiterated, remembering his belief from before.

A pause. An awkward one at that.

"Certainly a noble goal Balgruuf," Tullius admired. "But word has it that the Dragonborn has disappeared."

"Nonsense," Balgruuf immediately rejected. "I know her personally. She would never run away from her responsibilities."

"She hasn't been heard of in well over six months," Tullius sadly noted. "I doubt she's perished, but she's clearly chosen to remain off the public eye – ever since she left for that dragon in Solitude..."

"You heard about that?" Balgruuf questioned.

Tullius smiled. "The heart of the Empire is in Solitude Balgruuf. Of course I would hear of such a rumor."

"Is it possible we can – find her?" Farengar mused, unsure of his own question. "Do we know where she last was?"

Tullius shook his head. "Finding the Dragonborn would be a long shot – and if this whole thing _does_ turn out to be Stormcloaks, then she can't help either si – "

"It wasn't the Stormcloaks!" Balgruuf broke in angrily. "By Talos, do you think everything wrong in the world is because of the Stormcloaks?"

"More than half, I'm sure," Tullius joked. "But that's besides the point – we have to move Balgruuf."

"To Riften?" Farengar interrupted again. "Are you sure? Isn't that Stormcloak friendly?"

Tullus sighed. "Conceivably yes. But I'm not there to begin a riot in the city. I just need some spare guards – trained warriors at the very least – to take your city back."

"Will it be too late by then?" Balgruuf noted immediately.

"Unlikely," Tullius rejected. "My scouts tell me that Whiterun is being transformed – changed somehow. No contact _to_ the Hold, or _out_ of it. Whoever the aggressors are – they'll stick around long enough for us to kill them all."

"Bold," Farengar declared with emphasis.

"We must be," Tullius defended, drawing out a map. He dipped a nearby quill in an ink bottle, beginning to chart out a path.

"For Whiterun."

 **. . .**

"By Talo – it's the Dragonbo – "

"Shut up and keep quiet."

Lydia breezed past the guard, heavy garments doing nothing to disguise her presence. She ran up the steps, pushing the massive doors of the Keep open before striding in to see two patiently standing figures, huddled around a table placed in the center of the Throne room. It looked as if it had just been placed there, as if the worry and haste was too great to merit a more clandestine spot.

"Unmid," Lydia remarked, seeing the housecarl with appreciation. "Always good to see you."

"Same sentiment returned ten-fold, Dohvakiin," Unmid replied kindly.

Lydia turned to Laila, who was eyeing her with immediate hastiness.

"Let's get right into it, shall we?" she asked, shoving a nearby paper into Lydia's hands. "Read it."

Lydia observed the fine writing, golden stamp, and expensive material the ink was printed on, confirming her fears.

"Definitely Imperial," Lydia noted. "Definitely from Tullius. Damn it."

"See the problem?" Laila remarked, grabbing the paper back. "No chance in hell this is a forgery..."

"What happened last 'insepction'?" Lydia inquired. "Didn't the Hold get inspected before?"

"Yes," Unmid responded. "About thirty years ago. It was – peaceful, but that was before the Civil War obviously."

"Back when an inspection was just an inspection," Laila recognized. "Not some underhanded death threat."

"Calm down," Lydia encouraged. "It's not a death threat. You're overreacting..."

"I can't believe we're actually considering Maven as a solution," Laila suddenly mentioned. "Oh, that woman..."

"She is a necessary evil," Lydia simply put. "And let's weigh the outcomes – one: Riften's inspection is just an inspection."

"If I believed that, why would you be here?" Laila responded in irritation.

"Two: Tullius is going to come for Riften," Lydia allowed. "Then what are our options? Pay Maven..."

"The Keep doesn't have nearly that much coin Lydia," Laila admitted. "We barely keep the Hold running as it is..."

"Or I make Maven a counter-deal," Lydia broke in.

A pause. Unmid smiled knowingly.

"Really?" Laila expressed in slight apprehension. "What would Maven agree to? In fact, didn't she explicitly say she wouldn't be considering any other offers?"

"My allegiance," Lydia simply stated.

An even bigger pause.

"Lydia..." Unmid began.

"Absolutely not," Laila refused. "No way I'm allowing you to sell your soul to this daedric witch of a woman!"

"I'm not," Lydia emphatically noted. "Trust me."

"Trust me!" Laila roared, looking at Unmid. "She says to trust her!"

"Hear me out," Lydia interrupted. "Just because I promise to serve under Maven doesn't mean I _will_... you get what I'm saying?"

"Maven's not that easy to fool," Laila disagreed. "Trust _me_ on this one."

"Leave that to me," Lydia assuaged. "You just relax."

Laila sighed. "But – if she catches on to – "

"Let me worry about that," Lydia again calmed her down. "I'll make it into such a situation where nothing will happen to Riften – you can trust me on that."

"I seem to trust you a lot," Laila noted again. "Should I trust that you'll make it out alive – doing business with a cunning woman like Maven?"

"I don't want to," Lydia forced. "But it's for Riften. Believe me – I wish there was another way."

Laila moved her gaze to the ground.

"That's why I got into office too," Laila mentioned. "To help the city."

Lydia nodded. She took a seat next to the table, and prepared herself for a length conversation with a housecarl and an anxious Jarl – neither of which would be significant help to her.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _New chapter! Not much to say other than I hope you're enjoying the callbacks and references – hopefully Skyrim feels more real to you now. It's all heading somewhere big..._

 _I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	33. Help Not Arrived (VI)

**Help Not Arrived (VI)**

* * *

Balgruuf was pleasantly surprised to note how many of Tullius' men seemed concerned about the fate of Whiterun – several, in particular – had offered him condolences repeatedly through the night. He observed that many of the men had refused to blame him for anything he might have done. They were riding behind him and Farengar, the entire group following Tullius' lead forward.

Guilt.

He felt some of it from time to time, but Farengar – riding horseback and occasionally flashing a reassuring nod. It was shaky and nervous, as it had to be – but Balgruuf had always appreciated the effort made.

More importantly, they had been traveling nonstop for the past few hours or so. Tullius had decreed it so, and despite many attempts by both Balgruuf and Farengar to lighten up the pace, the Imperial General was having none of it – urge to push on exceeding sympathy for his men. As of right now, it was close to midnight and the moon was in full strength – gentle beams of light faded downward to flow across grasslands and thick trunks of trees. There was little chirping, for the air was so frigid, implacable by static motion – but mostly, it was simply a cold night.

"Pull out your map Tullius," Balgruuf requested. "I need to know where we are."

"Good idea," Tullius responded. "We're in unfamiliar territory."

With a quick swipe at his pockets, Tullius withdrew a tattered parchment. Making a motion, a guard trekked to the front to hold up a lantern, illuminating faint branches of lines.

"We're well past Ivarstead Balgruuf," Tullius noted. "It seems like there's a cave here. Did we cross a cave?"

A few guards exchanged glances at the back, before a clear voice rang out.

"I think so General!"

Nods of agreement followed.

"We should be approaching the Rift Watchtower now," Tullius added. "We're almost there Balgruuf."

A few groans arose audibly, horses whinnying carelessly in the light wind.

Farengar chuckled. "Your men seem tired Tullius."

Tullius looked back at his group, narrowing his eyes to observe each member's state with care. A few were coughing relentlessly, some appeared half-asleep with eyes drooping, with a large majority just barely clinging onto their saddles.

"We still have a few days traveling ahead of us," Tullius denoted. "It's not wise to stop here. Look around you."

Balgruuf took a small glance around him. It was indeed a peculiar place to stop at – besides the crumble of grass, most animal noises were faint and nearly unnoticeable. He furrowed his brow, wiping a band of sweat away from creased forehead skin before turning back to Tullius.

"It seems a bit – odd, I agree," Balgruuf began. "But I am tired as well."

Tullius let out an audible groan, blinking twice before signaling for the others to come to a full stop. Balgruuf smiled as the weary Farengar collapsed right on top of his horse once again.

 **. . .**

"Twenty today. You've done some good work my boy!"

Brom felt two contradicting impulses rise up – the usual one, loathing every second he had to spend with his supervisor down in the dungeons of the Keep – and the second, a pure elation from hearing the new sum of gold be quoted.

"Thank you sir," Brom noted, feeling his way through the darkness, lantern in hand and away from his stack of paperwork. "Have a good night!"

It was enthusiastic, perhaps even wrongfully so – but an extra five gold, at least in Brom's perspective, made a world of difference. Nearly two weeks into the job and his mind was already beginning to scout Riften for any possible homes for rent, or at least huts looking for tenants – Keeko had always been hospitable, but Brom knew eventually he would grow weary of the late night visits. Alondria most often was there, and sometimes Sibbi would make a surprise appearance as well – his visits turned out to be the most... exciting, in the end.

 _Where does he get the stuff,_ Brom mused. _So damn good..._

By now any sense of guilt that Brom had about the usage of Skooma had long since deteriorated into the background. Partly it was because Sibbi had been so nonchalant about its use, but more importantly Brom himself had a waning sense of immaturity leave him – perhaps that was what silenced his subconscious every time.

"Be careful up the steps boy," the supervisor rang out, Brom just barely making it to the top of the stairs. "Oh, and you asked me to remind you about your friend's performance tonight?"

Brom stopped, confusion present before realization flooded him.

 _It's tonight?_ _Damn it!_

"Thank you!" Brom roared, shoving past the trap door and into the Throne room of the Keep. To his great disappointment, it appeared to be crowded.

Jail Laila, as usual perched on the golden chair and speaking to the housecarl Unmid, caught a glimpse of Brom from the corner of her eye before she called out.

"Brom! Where do you think you're going?"

"Sorry my Jarl!" he screamed out, dashing past a line of citizens waiting to speak to Laila. "Have to go somewhere! Supervisor said it's okay!"

He had no time to continue banter with the Jarl. If he would sprint, perhaps he would have just enough time to make it before Keeko finished his last few bits – but even that was a great hope.

Brom shoved past the twin wooden doors, leaping down the short flight of steps down to Riften as warm air breezed past him. For the first time in many weeks, Riften seemed warm and hospitable at night – there was no coldness, moonlight was just strong enough to illuminate the tops of homes and the stone paths but not blinding – and as Brom had predicted, a small crowd of onlookers were standing in the center of the marketplace, eyes fixated on a nervous, small Breton standing on a small podium.

"Please don't be finished," Brom whispered to himself, running across floorboards – just a few paces away from the crowd.

As he reached it, he was disappointed to hear audible chuckles and cackles of laughter, immediately recognizing Alondria's dismayed face turn back at him.

"Sorry," Brom whispered. "Supervisor wouldn't let me go..."

More laughter. Brom forced himself to pay attention, pleased to see Keeko's face light up as it connected with his.

"And then the bard says," Keeko announced, flaring his arms out wildly. "Give me a shot of mead then."

This one did it. The crowd burst into uproars of giggling, sincere laugher mixed in with general lack of control over their own bodies. A few large men next to Brom swung their elbows out wildly, clutching their stomach before nearly keeling over.

"Thank you everyone!" Keeko finished, stare immediately fixating on Alondria and Brom. "You all have been a great crowd! Good night!"

The crowd, still chuckling in mirth to themselves, finished off with a few clapping sounds before slowly beginning to disperse back to their homes. Keeko made his way to Brom's side, punching him squarely in the ribs.

"Ou – easy!" Brom let out, holding his ribs in vain.

"You couldn't have come any later," Alondria broke in. "You promised you'd be on time for this one!"

Keeko waved her arguments away. "It's that bloody supervisor, right Brom?"

"He _is_ a moron," Brom agreed. "But he gave me an extra five coins today."

Alondria fakely appeared shocked, and began pacing around both Brom and Keeko.

"FIVE GOLD? BY TALOS AND DAEDRA WELL DONE BROM!"

Keeko narrowed his eyes. "All right shut it, there are people around."

"FIVE GOLD!"

He turned back to Brom, happy to note the lack of a crowd anymore. "You think we should celebrate?"

Brom understood the implication, but shook his head.

"FIVE GOLD!"

"Quiet you," Brom hushed. "I don't think so Keeko. Not tonight – let's just stay in and talk, yeah?"

"FIVE GOLD!"

"Annoying hag," Keeko noted. "Sure. Walk to you to your farm?"

"BROM! WAS IT FOUR OR FIVE?"

"Typical Black-Briar," Brom noted. "Doesn't understand the value of coin."

"Wise words," Keeko agreed.

Alondria appeared deflated. "What? I thought it was funny."

"No," Keeko forced. " _I_ know what's funny."

Brom shook his head, a bit put off by the guards' sudden appearance at the marketplace.

"No lollygagging," a tall one commanded. "Move along!"

Biting back a swear, Brom marched out of the marketplace. He charted the shortest path to the wide gates exiting Riften, briefly responding to passerby's who recognized him on the way back. In some ways, working at the Keep gave him a limited visibility in Riften – he was nowhere near any sort of level of celebrity warriors, housecarls, or even guards were – but he was well-known, and there existed an air of friendliness between him and most of the citizens. Some of which he had personally delivered shipments of either wheat, seeds, or other goods too, others he simply knew from his immeasurable amounts of walks around the city taken with Alondria and Keeko in tow.

Brom pushed past the gates, satisifed to see warm air still pervade the vast landscape.

"Warm night," he breathed, enjoying the faint sounds of animals in the distance. "Peaceful."

"Stop with the philosophy," Alondria urged. "Let me handle poetry and philosophy. You just handle wheat."

Keeko chuckled at this. Brom frowned, before seeing the small fence he had grown accustomed to – he jumped over it, making his way to the ever-present bedroll and small sack of wheat seeds still laying obediently by its side. The crops seemed to be doing well too – already a few had grown small sprouts, not longer than perhaps a fingertip of height – but it was certainly progress.

"Hard work's paying off," Keeko observed. "In about two to three months, you can grow enough wheat for one loaf of bread."

"That's not true," Brom spat. "Why don't you shut up for a while? How about that?"

"Sorry," Keeko immediately rang back. "I just don't think I did well tonight."

Brom sat down on the bedroll, stretching his back while Alondria took a seat next to him.

"What?" he queried. "You did fine."

"You were only there for about a minute," Keeko advised. "Alondria, what did you think?"

The Nord girl scratched at her long hair. "Honestly?"

Keeko shuddered. "Honestly."

"You did okay. Not good – but better than last time."

The Breton exhaled in relief. "Thank Talos. I was expecting much worse."

Brom chuckled. Alondria leaned against his shoulder, coughing gently.

"What?" Keeko asked.

She coughed again, with more deliberation.

Keeko smiled at Brom, winking twice. "I understand. I've got something for you Brom."

He extracted a small purple vial, earning a brief sigh from Brom.

"Not really in the mood for it now," Brom noted. "Who asked you to give me some? Sibbi?"

"Who else?" Keeko replied, taking a seat on the grass. "He couldn't meet up with us today – got into a bit of trouble with the guards. Was flirting with one of them."

"Idiot," Alondria described. "Him and my father are disgraces to the Black-Briar name."

"You seem to hate your family," Brom questioned, courteously accepting the purple vial before rolling it in his fingers. "Why?"

"It's annoying, being a Black-Briar," Alondria stated. "Living up to the name. I don't want it."

Keeko lowered his gaze, serious tone taking hold of him. "Too much expectations?"

Alondria simply nodded. "Too much."

"I wouldn't know," Brom uselessly interjected, rolling the vial in his palm. "I'm sorry to not be of any help – but my upbringing wasn't anything like that."

"Same over here," Keeko importantly added. "Brom and I weren't born into fame."

"But I don't want it," Alondria sounded off. "It's depressing. Trying to be something I don't care about."

"Skyrim isn't that great of a place to live, to be honest," Brom dismally noted. "But the best we can do is just try our best and see what happens."

"Cynical," Keeko stated.

Brom scoffed. "Realistic."

A small patter of footsteps in the distance. Brom ignored them.

"I didn't know we'd be in such a depressed mood," he announced.

Alondria and Keeko expressed disgust.

"You brought it up!"

"Try our best he says..."

"I didn't mean it like that," Brom squeezed, uncorking the purple vial before taking a slow, lingering sip. The feeling of relaxation came back. "You – you know I didn't."

Already his words were slurring. He handed it off to Keeko, who took a brief shot as well – and tried to take another, before Alondria forcibly removed it and downed a large gulp.

"Sibbi sure knows Skooma," Alondria broke in, head still casually leaned against Brom. "I swear – he's – he's getting better and better every time he brings it."

Brom smiled. He was getting used to the feeling – having tried it three times already. Most of the initial "beginner's fatigue" that Sibbi had warned him against had left him. Now, he felt in control – but more than that, he felt a dullness in sensation – that was perhaps the most rewarding.

"So – how's the home hunt going?" Keeko broke in. "Found any places you can afford?"

"Not at this salary," Brom replied quickly, still fumbling with the small coin pouch the supervisor had handed him. "But I'm on the lookout – have a few places on my list."

"You've gone from what, zero coin to managing your own farm," Alondria praised. "Perseverance. I – I like that in a man."

Brom immediately understood what this meant. "Shut up girl, you're drunk."

"She is," Keeko agreed, wavering slightly. "Or high. Can't even tell with this stuff."

"I think I like men," Alondria braced, leaning more heavily on Brom's shoulder. "Who work their way to the top – and you seem like ah, um..."

Brom couldn't keep himself from giggling painfully. She was so intoxicated that her head was circling about, arms loosely wrapped around Brom.

"You seem pretty – nice hair and stuff like that..."

Brom smiled, lightly bumping her on the head. Keeko seemed completely blown away.

"How come you've never complimented me on my hair?" the Breton mentioned offensively. "I have nice hair too..."

"Because you're a midget," Alondria cruelly joked. "Brom's a nice Nordy, wheaty coiny boy..."

He shook his head. "Give me that bottle – you're not making any sense."

Brom was too dulled – too senseless to feel anything right now. He forcibly removed the vial from her grasp, admiring it's purple logo with genuine interest.

Footsteps. Stronger. More deliberate. Brom focused his gaze harder on not ten paces away from him. A woman with a tall frame and long dark hair, dressed in simple garments and a loose hood – approached them with haste. She was walking with a modest, unrestricted gait, steadily marching over vast beds of grass and directly for the fence that was so weakly protecting his privacy.

 _No._

 _Not now._

 _Why?_

"Can't let me live in peace, can you?" Brom muttered to himself.

"What was that, Brommy?" Alondria nonsensically quipped.

"Shut it, both of you," Brom advised. "Stay down and let me talk to this – girl."

Although mildly offended, both Keeko and Alondria huffed and also caught wind of the person approaching the farm – but Brom was certain they had little idea who she was in their intoxicated states. He shoved the vial into Alondria's hands before making his way over the fence, approaching the woman with deep distaste.

Weirdly, he didn't feel any anger for her late night, completely unwarranted visit to his – home?

 _Not yet._

But he didn't feel any anger. The Skooma was dulling any other feeling he had – other than the purest form, a constant sense of peace.

"What?" Brom breathed steadily back, disappointed to see her remove her hood and expose that same, emphathetically-inclined face. "I thought I told you to leave me alone."

Lydia took a long bow, nodding gently at him. He couldn't detect any enthusiasm from her – it almost seemed as if she was forced to be here, rather than coming out of her own will. Almost as if she had a responsibility to fulfill, Lydia took his gaze once again.

"I'm leaving in a few hours."

Silence.

Shuffling of feet as both Alondria and Keeko fell down behind him, bodies laying stupidly in the grass.

"So?" Brom noted, disappointed to have the Skooma's effect on him – it was dulling any reaction to this. "I don't care."

Lydia blinked twice. "Of course. But – I don't know – I just felt like saying goodbye."

And suddenly he was glad he couldn't feel anything. "Lydia – just leave. Please."

He took her hand, enveloping it with two of his own. "You don't have to do this. Really. I don't – I don't hate you."

Lydia's eyes glazed over. "What?"

"I don't," Brom firmly denoted. "I – I thought I did. Never mind. Point is – let's just part on good terms, okay?"

Lydia moved her gaze to the moon. "Part on good terms..."

It was frustrating how dull his senses were. Brom couldn't accurately see either his reactions, or her's. The best thing in the world would be if she could just take this response and leave him for good – and he was making every attempt to give her the answer she was looking for – but she didn't seem to care. He didn't either.

Suddenly Lydia snapped back to his own gaze. Her face – even under his current state – could be clearly distinguished as angry.

"Brom," she uttered, words deathly low. "What – have you been drinking?"

 _Damn. No. Change the subject. Deny._

His heart rate increased, chest pounding. "What? No."

 _Damn it._

 _Please._

 _Not now._

Her stern demeanor remained. She jabbed out an open palm, crushing it against his chest.

"AUGH, WHAT THE - "

A wave of pain. An immense flooding sensation. Bouts of elation left him, almost as if every single second of effect the vial had on him was stripped away. Frustrated, he was back to normalcy.

"Exactly what I thought," her voice came out again, apparently having used some spell on him. She seemed oddly harsh and commanding.

"ALL OF YOU, LEAVE NOW!"

Alondria and Keeko, who had been watching the conversation from afar, jolted upright before drunkenly jogging away, brushing past Lydia and down the path back to Riften. While Keeko had sprinted away, he had dropped the vial – right at Lydia's feet. Brom felt anger that he had never experienced before.

Lydia bent down to retrieve the purple vial, examining its logo before palming it in her hand.

"Explain."

It was a simple command. Brom wasn't intoxicated anymore. He felt the urge to wrestle the bottle away from her then drink all of it in front of her face – just to anger that face further.

"I don't have to," Brom simply responded, keeping a loose tone. He dug his hands into his pockets, leaning back with the wind. "I don't have to explain anything."

Lydia was shaking, and a kind of anger he had never seen from her was emanating visibly.

"Skooma," she whispered, turning the bottle over in her fingers. "Skooma..."

"Yep," Brom joked cruelly, smiling at her. "Good job, that's what it's called."

Lydia grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanking him close enough so that she could practically stab him to death if she wanted to.

"SKOOMA!" she roared, holding him tightly. "SKOOMA! YOU STUPID, ARROGANT LITTLE – "

Brom scowled, shoving her away.

"Bugger off you!" he screamed, knowing fully well this was exactly the wrong thing to do. "Can't you leave me alone for one second?!"

"This is how you measure success, eh?" Lydia questioned, crushing the bottle in her grip. "Get some coin, shoot up this garbage when you feel like it – and hang around a cheap whore and some failing comedian?"

Brom clenched his teeth, moving to close the space between them.

"You don't talk about them that way."

"I will," she resolutely forced, pushing him back. "And you – you stupid idiot of a boy..."

"Stop calling me a boy," he whispered back.

Lydia paced around, nearly kicking over his fence with the anger she had churning through her. Brom thought about screaming for help and getting her engaged with a few guards.

"They're losers Brom!" Lydia roared. "They're losers who are attracted to how much of a loser you are now!"

"THEN WHAT WAS I WITH YOU, THEN?!" he yelled, confident a guard would hear him. "A HERO?! A REAL 'WINNER' AT LIFE?!"

"YOU HAD PURPOSE! YOU HAD DRIVE! You were achieving... something, at the least!"

"You want to see my 'achievements'," Brom sarcastically asked, lifting up his shirt. "Look, achievement number one on my stomach, look – achievement number two on my chest – all great, big, fucking gashes!"

Lydia stepped back, banging her fist fiercely against the fence, breaking two wooden links.

"Hey!" Brom roared. "Stop! That's worth a lot of coin!"

"You ruined yourself," Lydia breathed, now panicked anger overtaking her. "I come back to try one last time to make you come to your senses – and I see you like this..."

Brom gulped. "I'm – doing what I want to do – "

She stared fiercely back at him. He pressed on.

"And you have no right to judge me – on anything. I'm nothing to – to you."

A pause. She looked back at the fence, ruminating for a moment.

Sudden movement. She had grabbed his shirt collar again, and had forced his body close once more. Those brown eyes looked straight at him, practically tearing right through any defense he had set up mentally. He felt vulnerable – weak, hurt, defenseless – and he was powerless to stop any of the rest of what was to happen.

Lydia took a deep breath, eyes glazed once more – but resolute.

"You were _everything_ to me."

Another pause.

He coughed. She stared.

"You were – more to me than anyone ever was," she uttered, still practically choking him by his collar. "You – meant more to me than anyone – ever has... And you know what?"

Brom gulped. He felt weak. He couldn't say anything. He didn't feel like saying anything. He was feeling regret sink in.

"You're a nobody."

He opened his eyes. "Wha – What?"

Those brown eyes were harsh now, unforgiving.

They seemed malignant.

In a way he had never seen them before.

"You were always right," Lydia calmly mentioned. "I'm the Dragonborn. Who are you? Why should I be upset over someone – as insignificant as you?"

Brom was breathing heavily.

"Some worthless orphan from Whiterun?"

It was over. He couldn't. Nothing was making sense. His arms weren't even trying to shove her away. Liquid was pulling at his eyes, threatening to begin running down his face.

"You won't hear from me again," Lydia whispered, tone of finality never so present as it was now. "I would say good luck – but cheap scum like you will be dead in a few months."

She pushed him roughly back, force of it being enough to make Brom crash against the fence and break the remainder of the linkage. He lay there for a while, seeing Lydia's looming frame tower over him from that perspective.

"Here," her voice came, suddenly her face was much closer, and her hand had a cup-shaped sliver of broken vial glass. "Luckily there's still some left – enjoy."

The enthusiasm was vicious and cruel, and she pushed the contents of the shard into Brom's reluctant mouth, forcing her way past his flailing hands.

Brom felt the liquid, completely uninvited and mirthless, hit the bottom of his stomach as it always did.

"Drink up."

She was forcing all of it down. He couldn't move away, and the liquid kept running down his face. _Her_ face seemed unreactive, careless, completely devoid of emotion – and only when did the last drop go in, then she stopped and threw the shard away.

Brom felt a light wave of euphoria hit him, eyes blinking shut gradually to last words – jarring and uncertain, but predictably from her.

"You're worthless."

His eyes were closing shut.

"Nothing."

He could barely make out her face anymore.

"Nothing. You hear me you bastard?"

Complete darkness.

"Nothing."

 **. . .**

Much farther away, far enough so that their multitude of shadows could just be dimly spotted in the loose moonlight streaking above them – sat two Khajiit men, dressed in dark clothing with thick hoods, holding two baskets gleefully. They were watching Riften from a treetop, staring coldly at the life – ever-present and rapidly moving – in front of and below them. They took particularly sharp notice of a small farm nearby, a section of it broken with a teenaged boy lying motionlessly in the center. A woman, clad in regular clothing – was adamantly striding away from the farm.

"Seems our big fishy had a fight with little fishy," the taller Khajiit man slurred. "Master Maven was right – this is definitely the Dragonborn's weakness."

"What about the other one?" the shorter Khajiit asked, voice quiet and low. "The fishy named Balgruuf from the city we tore apart? The fishy named Tullius escaped but this fishy... can we – sear him?"

"Royal fishy _is_ the best fishy," the taller one promoted. "But don't eat him quite yet – we've still got a bit of business to do... get the boy."

The shorter Khajiit laughed in joy. "I love young fishy..."

"I do as well brother..."

The taller Khajiit remained in place, watching the shorter one dive down from the tree and land softly in the grass below. He tracked the Khajiit's movements, sprinting quickly to the farm with hurried, fierce intensity. Within a few minutes, he was at the fence.

The taller Khajiit chuckled. The boy had put up somewhat of a fight, struggling against the shorter Khajiit for a while – before the Khajit delivered a fierce blow to the boy's temples, rendering him motionless. The younger Khajiit hoisted the boy over his shoulders, flashing a bright smile to the taller Khajiit.

"Young and new fishy," the man muttered to himself, watching the shorter Khajiit trek quickly back to the base of the tree.

"My favorite."

* * *

 **END OF ACT II**

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Not exactly a perfect 1/3 split between Acts... but whatever! It works for now... Lots of things that happened in this chapter!_

 _So with the third Act the story will begin wrapping up – not ending immediately, but over the span of the Third Act the conflicts and narrative presented thus far start to really mesh together – and hopefully, it'll all make sense in the end. Don't worry, nothing technique-wise or narrative-wise will be changing, but just letting you all know that we're on the final home stretch!_

 _Really quite painful writing the Brom/Lydia parts thus far, I really like their characterizations so making them – oppositional was sort of a win/lose situation._

 _Anyways, it's all going to wrap up – in just 17 chapters. (Remember, final chapter will be number 50)_

 _Plenty of surprises ahead, plenty of narrative drama to go on, etc..._

 _Just a thanks to everyone who's stuck by the story this long, I know it takes a while to get into – but I hope you're enjoying everything so far._

 _As always, I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_

 _P.S: I think a lot of my readers can guess what the next chapter will be titled. :)_


	34. Smile and Ask (III)

**ACT III**

* * *

 **Smile and Ask (III)**

* * *

Anger. More anger than she had ever felt in her entire life.

Righteous anger.

Justified anger.

 _Her_ anger.

It took her just minutes to storm past the gates of Riften, and slip by unnoticed through the public. A minute to cross the marketplace, and about ten seconds to find the home. It wasn't extravagant by any means, but it was noticeable. In the darkness of early morning, with just a bit of moonlight shining down on the sleepy Hold – it was the perfect timing for Lydia to burst in uninterrupted.

She thrusted the door open, breaking the lock before slamming it back closed. The home itself was dark, as it always was – but as usual, the slight, perpetually smiling frame of Maven Black-Briar assuredly was sitting in an ornate red chair. A book was laying casually along her lap, fingers still brushing against a page.

"Why?" Lydia mouthed, fuming as Maven calmly closed the book. "Answer me."

Maven raised her eyebrows. "Why? Why what?"

"You know what," Lydia answered, shaking slightly. "Don't play dumb with _me,_ you stupid old hag."

Maven grinned widely, putting down her book at a nearby table. "Now there's the Lydia I know! Tell me, what has you so irked _this_ time?"

Lydia had to restain herself from unleashing a massive fire spell against Maven.

"Where's your worthless whore of a granddaughter?" Lydia spat, looking around for any signs of life. "Where's everyone?"

"Do not threaten my granddaughter, Dragonborn," Maven urged, eyes focused and narrow with the grin gone. "Everyone in the Manor is sleeping – as normal people do at such a late hour."

"You're funny Maven," Lydia sarcastically quipped. "You Black-Briars should all become traveling comics or something."

"What's happening?"

Lydia's head swerved to see the source of the voice, and was satisified to see a small girl's frame approach waveringly, down a short flight of stairs.

"What's your name?" Lydia hissed.

"Don't answer that question dear," Maven commanded, addressing the girl. "We don't know what she's here for."

"Answer me dog," Lydia spat.

The girl quivered in her place, long hair and night garments shaking perceptibly.

"Al – Alon – Alondria."

"You know me, right?" Lydia dangerously uttered. "I'm the one who kicked you and your milkdrinking friend out of Brom's farm."

"I know, I know!" Alondria responded in hesitation. "I apologize Dragonborn, for – finding us in that – state."

"What 'state' my dear?" Maven replied gently.

"We – we – " Alondria tried.

"Shut up," Lydia commanded. "Get out. I think I've made my point."

Alondria nodded quickly, sprinting up the stairs. Lydia heard the nervous shut of a door above.

"I must confess," Maven spoke up. "I haven't the faintest idea what's going on."

"Skooma you manipulative whore," Lydia whispered, voice so low it could practically go unnoticed. "Keep your pathetic family and your granddaughter away from Brom. FAR away."

She was still shaking. It hurt just looking at Maven – she wanted so badly to break that politely composed face, destroy those fakely kind features.

"Are you implying my granddaughter actually uses Skooma?" Maven quizzed in confusion. "Really, Lydia?"

"I saw it," Lydia spat. "I saw the bottle. I saw the symbol. And, knowing your pathetic family, it could only be – "

"Sibbi," Maven immediately concluded. "Of course. He's always been – a bit of a problem individual. But who's – Brom?"

"The wheat boy," Lydia rang, annoyed to repeat herself. "The wheat boy who interrupted our – meeting last time."

Maven took a second to evaluate the memory. "Ah yes. I remember him! Pretty boy? Tallish and Nord?"

"Don't talk about him that way," Lydia stated flatly. "You don't _get_ to talk about him that way..."

"I know how it looks Lydia," Maven smoothly reassured. "But I was truly unaware of how deeply Sibbi and my granddaughter were involved in the boy's affairs – the only thing puzzling me however, is why _you're_ so upset over it."

"I know the boy," Lydia described. "I'm telling you face to face to bugger away from him."

Maven suddenly let out a laugh – much deeper and prominent than anything she had expressed before.

"By Talos Lydia..." Maven began, shaking her head in disbelief. "I know you're predictable but... not _this_ predictable..."

"What are you blubbering about?" Lydia broke nonchalantly.

"I didn't know the boy and you were – that close," Maven quietly responded, smirking cruelly. "Lydia – when will you learn your lesson?"

"What damn lesson?"

Maven bit her lip. "To stop filling that void in your heart with things that are – temporary."

Lydia realized the implication and stepped closer to Maven.

"Keep away from him," she commanded, frustrated by the newfound calmness radiating from Maven again. "Do as I say and I won't come down here and skin you alive."

"Tell me Lydia," Maven whispered, leaning in. "Was he good for you? Did he make you feel... important?"

"Enough," Lydia objected. "Just – stop. Before I – "

"Powerful?"

"Stop."

"Loved?"

A pause. Lydia swung her fist right into Maven's aged face, breaking through the nose before swinging back into air.

Another pause.

Maven was still seated, but rubbed at her injured nose with absolute calmness – just as she always had.

"Stay out of his life," Lydia forced. "And – please smooth things over when Tullius arrives."

This was an odd sort of transition, but Maven appeared to remain as amused by the whole ordeal as ever.

"Do you have a hundred thousand gold?" Maven asked, massaging her nostrils.

"No," Lydia flatly stated.

"Then I'm sorry, but I can't – "

"But you'll have my loyalty."

Yet another pause.

"You're – what?" Maven required, although Lydia suspected internally she was squealing with joy. "Loyalty, Lydia? I thought you hated me!"

"I do," Lydia confirmed. "But – I have to do what's right. Even if it means mixing with your – dirty ways."

Maven leaned back at her seat. Lydia continued.

"My loyalty means if there _is_ a big issue in Skyrim, such as a Dragon attack or Civil War issue – " Lydia elaborated, hating herself for saying each word. "I'll – I'll follow your lead."

"You'll do what I say, and side with whom I ask you to side with," Maven noted. "Excellent... a fine replacement for a hunded thousand gold..."

"So, will you do it?"

Maven smiled. "Of course – who wouldn't? I didn't expect the Dragonborn to sell her soul for – such a useless cause."

Maven, for the first time in all the moments Lydia had seen her in Riften, stood up gently. She winked at Lydia briefly, rubbing at her eyes.

"We done here?" Lydia asked angrily. "I have to leave Riften and go back to doing actually _important_ things."

"If you're done pulverizing my face," Maven quoted. "Then – yes. I'll send a messenger to Laila to get a written document of loyalty."

"Good. And – " Lydia moved closer to Maven, staring at her broken nose with rage. " - remember what I said. Keep yourself and your family _away_ from Brom."

Maven nodded slowly, narrowing her eyes. "As you wish – _Dragonborn._ "

Lydia restrained herself from hitting her, proceeding to the door once more.

"He doesn't feel the same way, you know."

She stopped. Lydia turned back to Maven, dim outline of her frame shining a bit in the lantern light.

"I heard you talking to him last time you came here," Maven mentioned, smirking again. "In the basement. He didn't seem – to feel the same way about you, as you do about him. Thought you should know that – before you leave."

Lydia shoved the door open, not bothering to close it behind her.

 **. . .**

Darkness.

Closure.

A burst of light. He guessed it to be his eyes, adjusting to the darkness.

"Little fishy is awake!"

Brom blinked twice before the sudden burst of light flooded his brain. Most of the first details were general – a thick, dense cave structure that he couldn't quite see clearly surrounding him, and several Khajiit men sitting in a circle around him.

A few more moments of silence.

Brom's eyes focused some more. He was certainly in an enclosed area, and as far as he could tell only one lantern was providing any type of light in the cave. It sat near his cheek, burning the flesh a bit before Brom shifted his torso out of the way.

A pause as his arms struggled free.

He wasn't bound in any way. There was no rope around his limbs or body. He had expected more restraints tied to him.

Brom caught a glimpse of several baskets lying idly in the corner of the cave, which he guessed to be big enough for at least twenty or so Khajiit. There were only ten however, as far as Brom could count – and they were still seated around him, apparently observing his squrming with mild interest.

"Can't let this one go like we did with the royal fishy..."

"Does this young one taste good? Have you ever had young fishy?"

"Guess we'll find out brothers..."

Brom sat up in the center, trying to keep his heart from pounding too hard and stopping any sense of rationality that he had.

"Where am I?" his shaky question came out, rotating his head to see those faces – those cruel, objectively pleasant faces stare back at him. "I – I know you people... please, let me go..."

"We will little fishy," the Khajiit sitting closest to him noted. "We will – in due time, after our first taste."

Brom gulped. "Just – just why? Please – j – just why do this – again? Please, I don't know anything..."

"Our employer gifted you to us," the Khajiit man implored. "And what a fine gift you, fishy are..."

"Who's your employer?" Brom questioned, looking nervously and constantly around the dimly lit cave for any signs of his captors' movement. "Whatever he's paying you, I can do more, trust me..."

It was a stupid bluff, and easily detectable, but Brom pressed on as the Khajiit around him grinned and let out a unified laugh.

"Please sir, I've run into your – people before," Brom begged, trying to elicit _any_ bout of sympathy. "Please... just let me go, I don't know anything..."

"We actually wanted to ask you to help us with something," the Khajiit replied with a smirk.

Brom's ears straightened. "H – Help? With what?"

"Certain things," the Khajit responded. "See – we have a bit of a – gender imbalance, in our circle."

Brom looked around. All he could see were Khajiit men, dressed in dark, hooded clothing. He remained confused.

"The problem with a gender imbalance is simple," the Khajiit noted sadly. "Ever had a lover, Brom?"

Brom swallowed painfully. He was unsure at how easily his name had been retrieved. He began scanning the cave for any possible exits.

"Probably not," the Khajiit man deduced. "But for us – a lack of female... _companions_ , makes certain aspects of our lives quite difficult, as you can imagine."

"Listen sir," Brom spoke, trying to bargain with anything he could use. "I – I don't know anything about what the Dragonborn is doing. I'm sure some of your men have seen me with her, but I – I – I promise you I don't know her anymore. We – we parted ways a long time – "

"So since we have no female companions, we are consequently quite unhappy – with our... repressed _lust_ over the centuries..." the Khajiit man continued, ignoring Brom. "But that goes for any man, I suppose..."

A bit of chuckling in the crowd. Brom felt more confused than ever.

 _Lust?_

 _What the hell?_

"I don't understand sir," Brom turned. "But if it's something the Dragonborn did to your wives – I can help! I can somehow lead you to – "

"Oh but you will help!" the Khajiit sounded off gleefully. "See – that's why we had to take you! So you could help us!"

"I will!" Brom cried enthusiastically, feeling fear and relief spin simultaneously under his breath. "I can draw you to her – there's a good chance she's still in Riften! I can ask her to meet with you all and discuss what – "

Brom stopped.

Several members of the Khajiit group were removing their clothing. Brom watched in shock as many let their bottom garments fall to the dusty rock ground, shaking themselves liberally to loosen themselves. A few kept their top garment on, but for the most part at least four of them removed their bottom covering before – _exposing_ themselves, proudly standing up now, with feet wide apart and hands placed... _expectantly_ on their hips.

"What – what are your men..." Brom tried, feeling impending fear – a kind of fear he never thought he would experience – well up. "... what are they doing? S – S – Sir? Please..."

"It's hard living without any women," the Khajiit man stated glumly. "No lovers, no wives, no... _pleasure_..."

 _No._

 _Not this._

 _Not possible._

 _They couldn't._

Brom felt more fear creep up, seeing two men approach from his sides, pelvis coming dangerously close to his space.

"I – I don't know w – what's happening here..." Brom whispered, bowing down on the floor of the Khajiit man. "But – please – let me go..."

The Khajiit man observing this bit back a smile before steepling his fingers together. He addressed Brom with the most polite of tones.

"Can you – be our woman, Brom?"

A second of pause.

A second of realization.

A second of panic.

He roared. He kicked and screamed. He felt their heavy breaths on his neck immediately, their superior weight pinning him down.

 _No._

 _Please Talos no._

 _But..._

Both his arms were hoisted above him by a muscular Khajiit and forced down to the floor. He felt a tugging sensation struggle at his leggings.

"Please," he begged, tears flowing freely. "No Talos please I'll do anything, I'll do anything..."

"Then do this for us," the smooth voice came again. "Please... _service_ a worthy cause... feel our see – "

"NO!" Brom yelled, trying desperately to break free from the muscular Khajiit's grip.

 _This isn't right._

 _This can't be right._

 _They couldn't. No one could do this..._

"Please..."

"Shhh little fishy," the muscular Khajiit beckoned, forcing his pelvis near Brom from his pinning position. "Let us, please..."

A choking sensation. An awful feeling. Brom nearly stopped breathing as a – _mound of flesh_ – thick and pulsing, was forced down his throat. He couldn't see it. He didn't _want_ to see it. He knew _exactly_ what it was.

He couldn't even beg. He couldn't even scream. He couldn't cry.

His leggings came off. Brom's head was forcibly turned upwards at the cave ceiling, feeling more of that warm flesh press deeper into his throat. His arms began to give up.

A forceful sensation – the same feeling of flesh piercing flesh – shot through his entire body. Brom's head was forced upwards as the muscular Khajiit – _exited –_ his mouth. Brom gasped again, and again, and three more times – before seeing a tall Khajiit man, the same one he was speaking to earlier – mount him, and force his bare legs onto his shoulders.

"Do not be scared little fishy," the Khajiit smoothly commanded, hoisting up the exposed legs and bottom higher. "I am very well-endowed. This should be easy for both of us."

Brom continued to gasp. There was a choking sensation – not from his throat, but from his chest.

He wanted to die.

He wished his lungs would shut down.

This couldn't be happening. He was a boy. They were older, and – not women. They couldn't do this.

A forceful thrust from above. Another shock through the body. The Khajiit growled in an animal fashion above Brom, arms still pinned by the other one. Brom felt his entire frame jolt upwards with the Khajiit's movements.

Again.

Throbbing.

Growling.

It was rhythmic. It had a pattern.

And it happened again. And again. He wasn't sure how long his eyes lasted before they shut down as well, his last feelings denoting rhythmic, thrusting violation. But it was more than that.

 _Thrust._

It was killing him.

 _Thrust._

He couldn't fight back.

 _Thrust._

He was dead.

He had to be.

 _Thrust._

 _Thrust._

 _Thrust._

* * *

 **A/N (very long, be prepared)**

 _So I really considered about putting a disclaimer on this one, but I'm assuming from the first disclaimer that I put (when Brom had to eat the finger), that people would know the story's not going to be really all that – restricted from then on. I was careful to make the sensitive scene not explicit, but I think by now all the readers will likely be at a certain point where they decide either:_

 _1\. Do I keep following this garbage?_

 _2\. Do I give it a chance past this?_

 _On a frank note, I really hope you do give it a chance, and I've had this part of the story mapped out for quite some time – and trust me, this WASN'T easy to write, but this is about as dark as my writing can get, so if you're still ready for more after this – atrocity of a scene – then I'll see you in the next chapter. There were a variety of reasons as to why this particular scene was played out the way it did, but most importantly I think it served a very real consequence for tangling with the wrong people, and being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Thematically, it adds a lot to the story – as I'm sure many of you noticed._

 _Basically, if I were to be honest – I've never seen Skyrim realistically as an adventurous place for "everyone", and I get frustrated by stories that portray Skyrim as this brilliant, wonderful land full of excitement and adventure. In my mind, Skyrim can be beautiful but it is also immeasurably dangerous, and it was this urge to create a more "human" story that led me to even start writing "Unsung Bard Tales". So that's my brief(ish) justification/defense of where everything's headed._

 _The writing technique I hope helped a bit in the final scene – I've found in my experience that segmented writing sort of denoted more emphasis than pure paragraphs._

 _So in summation, a depressing way to start the final Act, but a start nonetheless. Plenty of surprises and drama still coming. If you choose to leave after this, I'd like to take the opportunity to thank you for reading this far – it really has meant a lot to me. If you choose to keep reading, thank you very much for giving it a chance! Either away, I've got the rest of the narrative practically mapped out and 16 chapters to go, so I'm not going to stop 'till it's done._

 _As always, I'd appreciate any support and thank you for the view. Forge on! (Please :))_

 _~TW_


	35. Away (I)

**Away (I)**

* * *

"No goodbye?"

"No goodbye."

It was for the best. If she stuck around too long after this, then Laila might be tempted to get her to stay longer – althouch Lydia guessed it was more out of self-preservation than pure compassion. Regardless, she appreciated the sentiment. They _were_ alone after all in the darkness of midnight – no palace servants, no mages, not even the faithful Unmid had stayed back long enough to bid Lydia adieu. The Mistveil Keep felt barren and empty, as it should at such a late hour – but some shallow part of her wished Laila would have thrown a feast – just so she could passive-aggressively storm out of it.

If she was being honest with herself, Lydia had tried her best to leave immediately the moment after she had seen Brom –

 _Don't think about it._

Well, the last time she talked, and now, ever _will_ talk to Brom. But, as her mind would have it, she was far too frustrated to try and leave Riften last night. She spent the time at Bok's home, moping around for hours on end before the Orc forcibly booted her out with a stern warning.

" _Pull yourself together, and go be the Dragonborn!"_

Lydia smiled, admiring the memory. Bok had also bestowed a new set of dwarven armor, which she proudly was wearing – as well as a giant warhammer, which Lydia found hilariously cruel.

She turned to Laila again, seated glumly at one of the dinner tables, playing with silverware.

"I'm sorry it has to be this way," Lydia assured. "But I already stayed back one night too long – it's only fair that I leave now – the next night."

Laila nodded vaguely.

"I'll be gone in a few minutes," Lydia mentioned. "I just want to say thanks for – "

"It's so funny."

Lydia stopped, confused by the interruption. She took a seat next to Laila, taking a fork out of her hands as she tried to use it as a cymbal. She stared squarely into her eyes, trying to discern any tangible emotion.

"What's funny?" Lydia settled for.

"You," Laila reminisced, looking back at Lydia with a tired, sunken stare. "No one even knew you were in Riften. And now you're leaving."

Lydia flashed a small smile, hopeful but determined. "It's the way I operate – you should know that. Not a fan of big farewells and festivities..."

"Right," Laila agreed. "When have you ever?"

Lydia chuckled. "Never, I suppose – but you should know that the whole Tullius thing – "

"I'm not as worried about Tullius as I used to be," Laila interjected. "I'm – I'm more worried about you."

Lydia scrunched her nose in confusion. "Me?"

"Yes you," Laila confirmed, shaking her head. "I was talking with Unmid last night – and he said that throwing your loyalty away to that miserable wretch of a woman..."

"Laila..."

"You're ruined," Laila cried out. "You – you willingly made yourself a pawn in her empire. That, I just..."

Lydia turned her gaze down to the ground. "I'll be fine – I'll think about some way around it, I promise."

Laila coughed. "And Brom?"

Lydia twirled the fork in her fingers, tapping it against a golden plate with carelessness.

"What about him?"

"I know he's not coming with you," Laila forced. "I know that you and him were... quite – "

"It's his decision," Lydia cut off. "I've offered time and time again, and then I saw what he really was..."

Laila narrowed her eyes. "What is he?"

Lydia felt that old surge of anger flare up again. "A good-for-nothing orphan with no future, that's what he is."

"That seems harsh – "

"You don't know him like I do."

A silence. Lydia watched Laila squirm, sitting patiently in her seat and expecting more. She wasn't going to elaborate of course, and the more Laila seemed expectant the more she consciously decided to change the conversation.

"So no one came with me," Lydia broke in. "I asked around through Bok – not a single warrior wanted to be my companion."

"Did they know they were going to fight alongside the Dragonborn?" Laila queried. "Surely that must have gotten someone's attention."

"Bok informed them of it," Lydia mused. "But still – they all decided that their lives were – better in some way, I guess."

"Skyrim's dangerous Lydia," Laila reluctantantly let out. "More dangerous than it has been in a long time."

Lydia snorted. "Never seemed that way for me..."

"That's because you're – "

A deathly glare.

" - never mind."

Another silence, and this time Lydia paid no attention to how much squirming Laila underwent as she fidgeted in her chair nervously.

"I'm sorry to see you go."

Lydia turned back. Laila had her body in defensive and apologetic pose, staring down at the ground with a bit of shame. She moved forward, wrapping her arms around Laila.

"I'm sorry as well – keep in touch."

Laila relaxed into her arms, staying there for a moment before pulling away and standing up. She looked at Lydia with new-found vigor.

"Farewell," Laila noted. "At least try to visit in the future."

Lydia smirked. "No promises."

A crashing noise. Several guards yelling. A patter of footsteps – too heavy, too anxious...

Lydia instinctively spun about, pulling the warhammer from her back and into an attacking position. Her eyes instantly locked to the entrance of the Keep – three figures were struggling; an old man in the center, with two guards holding him still by the elbows. He roared angrily every time they caught him again.

"Fools! Don't you know who I am?!"

Lydia's heart sank. That stern, arrogant tone – those sunken, decrepit features...

"You said you'd take – take care of it," Laila quivered behind her. "What?! Lydia – he wasn't supposed to come for three more days!"

"Shut up," Lydia urged, placing her warhammer back onto the harness. "Follow me. Let's see what he wants. And no matter what, don't start begging!"

Laila shook compliantly. Lydia made her way down the room, hearing more of the man's confused fighting.

"Let go of me mongrels, I am General Tullius!"

The two guards paused for a moment, then quickly let go of the man before apologzing and hastily running out of the Keep. The man took a moment to straighten his tunic before meeting Lydia and Laila in the center.

"I've always heard rumors from citizens that all guards are bumbling buffoons," Tullius noted. "But never quite this stupid..."

Laila pushed past Lydia, promptly falling at Tullius' feet.

"Please General!" she beseeched. "Please! Have mercy! I beg of you!"

General Tullius widened his eyes in surprise before trying to shake her off.

"Jarl Laila – what? - This is most – unbecoming of you – by the – get off my feet!"

Lydia sighed before extending a hand outwards, dragging Laila forcibly up and backward.

"Shut up," she whispered to the now sobbing Laila. "Let me talk to him."

Lydia turned to Tullius, but was forced to a do a double-take.

The General was not resembling the Tullius that Lydia knew from years past. His face was scarred and bleeding in several paces, a portion of his forehead had a demented purple bruise coloring the top half, and the Imperial armor he was so proud of was jagged and broken into four distinct pieces – almost crudely sewn back together with something Tullius had evidently done himself.

"General," Lydia began, passing a revolted eye over the various injuries. "What happened to you?"

"I was going to explain, before those two morons accosted me!" Tullius angrily denounced. "Dragonborn – Whiterun has fallen, Balgruuf has been taken, and a hundred or so Imperial soldiers are dead – at the feet of some savage, cannibalistic tribe!"

It took Lydia several seconds to process, let alone understand most of this.

"Whiterun – has fallen?" she repeated slowly, noticing Laila perk up in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"You heard me," Tullius referenced. "And Jarl Balgruuf has been taken by those – _monsters_. They killed all of my men, and were about to do the same to me too before I managed to break free and escape."

"Wait, how?" Lydia managed. "By the daed – but Whiterun is so heavily guarded..."

"Maybe since you decided to go completely off the map," Tullius growled. "Perhaps that's why!"

Lydia frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Gone!" Tullius implored. "Off the map! For nearly a year – no word from the Dragonborn, other than you leaving for Solitude to fight some Dragon – which doesn't even exist!"

Lydia gulped. "But – "

"But nothing!" Tullius harshly cut across. "You've abandoned Skyrim and her people for a year, _Dohvakiin!_ And now cannibal tribes, a Hold crumbled, and a Jarl taken hostage! All because you refused to answer any call, any message, any – damn – letter!"

He shoved forcefully at Lydia, who was propelled back to hit Laila lightly.

"Hey!" Lydia roared. "Whiterun was standing strong when I left! Why weren't you there to do anything about it, eh?!"

"Because I was in Solitude!" Tullius roared. "Funny how then I hear about an imaginary Dragon terrorizing the citizens of my own damned Hold!"

Lydia stopped. This was true – and she hadn't expected Tullius to have so quickly disassembled her system of prevarications.

"I know about the lie," Tullius whispered. "I know all about the imaginary Dragon, the Brotherhood, and the sacrifice!"

Lydia shook her head. "H – How?"

Tullius frowned suddenly, turning his bruised face to the floor. "Because _they_ told me."

Lydia moved closer. "Who told you?"

Tullius shuddered. "The cannibals. They – made me watch as they – _helped themselves_ to my troop."

Another shudder. Laila began approaching Tullius in sympathy.

"While they were torturing me," Tullius continued. "They told me how the Dragonborn was all a phony. A fake. A liar who – who betrayed Skyrim through her lies."

Lydia felt a feeling well up in her chest. "And then you escaped?"

"Barely," Tullius corrected, demeanor returning. "I don't even remember where I was – hitched a ride off of a cart, asked him to take me to the nearest Hold."

"Riften," Laila completed. "So wait – there's no inspection?"

Tullius widened his eyes. "Inspection? What, for Whiterun?"

"No, for Riften," Laila stressed. "What about the letter?"

"What letter?" Tullius promtly asked.

"Never mind that," Lydia cut across. "We'll deal with that later. So you have no idea where the cannibals are?"

Tullius shook his head.

"Fine. How many occupied Whiterun?"

"They're several thousand strong," Tullius sadly noted. "Far too many to take on alone, I'm afraid. I was headed to Riften actually, trying to secure manpower – until those beasts attacked us..."

"We leave now," Lydia announced, breezing past Tullius.

Both Laila and Tullius looked at each other, confused by the sudden leave of absence. Lydia heard anxious footfall behind her as both leaders followed her through the gates of the Keep and into cool moonlight.

"I'm afraid they'll kill Balgruuf," Tullius whispered, walking alongside Lydia. "I didn't see him much – faded in and out of consciousness for a good chunk of it, but everytime they would finish torturing me, they would sing – _songs –_ about their 'fishy' Balgruuf..."

"They'll do nothing to him," Lydia assured, tone grave and demanding. "He's too important to be killed. You as well – I suspect they were using you both as bargaining chips."

"For what?" Laila queried.

Lydia shook her head.

"I wish I knew."

"Jarl Laila!"

A distinctively feminine voice. Lydia had made it to the bottom of the steps – but was immediately disappointed to see Alondria wheezing for breath, standing in a somewhat terrified fashion – in the courtyard of the Keep.

"My Jarl," Alondria repeated, addressing Laila. "Have you seen Brom? The wheat farmer?"

Laila tried to utter an unhelpful response but Lydia hastily closed the distance between herself and Alondria, grasping the neck of her loose shirt with fiery anger.

"I thought I told you to stay out of his life," she whispered dangerously. "Don't you understand words you whore?"

Alondria began tearing up. "It's – it's just that – he hasn't shown up recently for – for – "

"Maybe doing some Skooma you cheap milkdrinker?" Lydia spat.

"No! We just – "

"Shut up. Don't talk about him, don't look for him, and don't dare approach him again – or I shall come back here and skin you alive."

With that, Lydia shoved the crying girl away from her, motioning for Tullius and Laila to follow her out of the courtyard. She had a vague plan, an idea of sorts – but that would require cooperation from a few guards and Tullius' forces in Solitude – if the enemy really was several thousand strong, there would be no hope of defeating them without reinforcements. Even with Lydia's formidabalities, even _she_ was unsure she could fight off an entire army occupying a city – but she kept some hope.

"I have an idea," she whispered back. "Hurry up!"

Laila and Tullius ran lightly behind her – Lydia was thankful that it was night time. If any citizens were awake, they might be tempted to stop and detain her and the other two – after all, they were practically royalty.

Lydia turned back, making sure they were still following. As she approached the gates, she inhaled air slowly before shoving past the gates.

 _I'm coming for you Balgruuf._

 **. . .**

" _Please..."_

Darkness.

" _I'm begging you..."_

More darkness.

" _But – w – why..."_

Absolute darkness. Vivid images, bright and fresh in his memory – flashed across.

Words. Feelings. Touches. Skin.

He wasn't sure how long he had been lying there, but Brom felt the right side of his face throb painfully as it was pressed into the cold stone floor. He hadn't moved, not even made a sound – for at least the last three hours. The cave remained largely quiet – every once in a while he would hear a giggle or a chuckle coming from some other, distant part of the cave – but he wasn't sure whether it was his own imagination or actual creatures abiding there.

He was bonded to the darkness. He felt peaceful without any light shining on him. Perhaps it was naivete, or perhaps it was sheer irony – some sick, twisted joke – but every time _they_ came in, _they_ always brought a lantern. _They_ always did _it_ with bright light. He could... see everything as they _did_ everything to him. After the first time it had happened, after about ten or twenty men, perhaps more –

He bit back a sob, lungs quivering.

After they were all – done, they had left him there, right in the middle of the cave – but had mercifully taken away the lantern, shrouding him with the intimate cover of darkness. He couldn't find the strength to react in any way to it, but he distinctly remembered the softness with which they left him alone – a singlular man, furry fingers gently brushing aside loose strands of his hair while he lay there – shaking incosolably.

" _You've been a great woman, little fishy..._ "

And so time had passed. He was still laying there – and couldn't quite make out how many hours, if not days – had gone by. There was no sun to distinguish the time of day, no moon – but always, that impenetrable, comforting coldness of blinding darkness.

They had come back several times – and every time, with the lantern in hand.

The second time, he had kicked and screamed again.

Then after they were satisifed, they left. He laid there.

The third time, he protested – begging desperately.

Then after they were satisfied, they left. He laid there.

The fourth time, he looked at them with glazed eyes – limbs shaking not in rebellion, but in submission.

They had appreciated this time the most. He didn't make a single sound then. They enjoyed themselves. Then left.

And here he was again, lying there on the cold stone.

Truthfully every time they came to him he found himself reacting less and less emotionally to it – and this was surely a terrible sign. As their progressive "visits" to him increased, sometimes while he was sleeping, other times fresh awake – Brom found each episode of resistance less rewarding. Initially, when he felt those claws and fingers tugging at his back, tearing flesh – when he felt that all too familiar sensation, of being rocked up and down, again and again while his legs bounced hopelessly on one of their shoulders – but each time, he felt less of it. The first time had sapped him of any will to protest – the second time had made him apathetic to it – and now he felt a dullness, almost as if he was back in Riften, taking Skooma again.

One constancy in his time here was the mention of Balgruuf's name – he had heard that being thrown around casually, often by patiently "waiting" members while their brothers were occupied with Brom – but he had never heard from the man, much less see him. Brom wondered if he was perhaps held captive in a different part of the cave, but as far as he could tell – this space had only one exit. There was a small opening, just enough to fit one man – created about thirty paces away and behind him.

The opening flickered with light. A lantern could be discerned knocking carelessly against the side of the rocky cave.

Heavy footsteps. Many of them.

Brom turned onto his other side, facing the opening while tracking the light as it grew brighter and brighter. He desperately wanted to feel something – rage, apprehension, maybe even pure, pathetic fear – but mostly he just felt empty and cold, unreactive and quietly compliant.

"Greetings my lady!" a voice called out, towering frame of a Khajiit man with fine red garments stepping out from the entryway. "How has your night been?"

 _My lady,_ Brom repeated. _Lady..._

They had called him that occasionally. It seemed to be reserved only for particularly _special_ moments, when they would – engage so vigorously with Brom that he was left with new scars – often times across the width of his back and neck, and rarely on his pelvis and hip. By now his clothing had been ripped to barely distinguishable fragments, just tattered blankets of cloth thinly held together by a few strands woven into the garment.

An involuntary shudder. He still couldn't feel.

He had misheard the amount of footsteps. Only one man was here. He still had a lantern though.

"Did you sleep well my lady?" the man questioned sincerely, sitting down in front of Brom. "Had a good night's rest?"

Brom took a risk, glancing at the man's face. He seeemd genuinely concerned, features kind and inquisitive. Brom's chest began heaving automatically. He obediently spread his legs, letting his head fall back down to the stone.

"Oh no!" the man exclaimed, pushing Brom's legs together again. "Not now dear – I mean, I know I'm quite attractive but then again – so are you!"

The man grasped Brom with the most tender of grips, pulling him to a seated position facing him.

"I came to talk, my love," he whispered, motioning for Brom to sit closer. "Come here."

Brom kept his body loose, fearing the worst. He slowly crawled over, turning his back agonizingly to the man – who pulled him into his lap.

"My men tell me that some horrible fishy named Lydia talks to you," the man started, pressing fingers into Brom's waist. "Can you talk to the fishy and make her come here?"

The fingers dug deeper, massaging flesh.

"I – I – she's in – in Riften," Brom breathed out.

"Oh I know little fishy," the man smoothly agreed, growling near Brom's exposed neck. "But – forgive me for this – but why hasn't she come looking for you?"

Brom swallowed, throat hoarse. "She – she doesn't – probably – doesn't know where I am..."

The man huffed for a moment, twirling a strand of Brom's hair in his fingers. "But, my love... shouldn't she know where you are? My employer said she has your well-being at interest..."

Brom sniffled, choked words lazily sliding out. "I – I don't know! If you want to get – get to her, you have to tell her! About all – "

"Settle down dear," the man assuaged, wrapping his thick palms around Brom's waist. "No need to get – emotional."

Brom's teeth were clattering in his own jaw. "I – I don't think – she'll look for me..."

"Why not?" the man questioned, curiosity striking his face. "A pretty fishy like you – why would she leave you my dear?"

Brom hushed, voice on the border of silence. "She didn't – she never did..."

"Then?"

"I – I left her," Brom repeated hypnotically. "I – I left."

A pause. The man moved his fingers to Brom's neck, pressing lightly – in rhythm as the gentle muscle pulsed anxiously back and forth. He was being tender, perhaps even a bit protective – and Brom felt a kind of violation, not from the man, but from himself. Everything she had said about him was true – and it was proven by what had happened.

Brom wondered how long they would keep him – before realizing he was useless, and not a bargaining chip anymore – then would be that sweet release. Perhaps they would hold him down once more, take one last shred of dignity away from him, violate his shaken body just for memory – then grant him mercy, swinging a sword directly into his neck.

"Well then, enough serious talk," the man growled. "I suppose you're – free for the night?"

Brom closed his eyes. He pursed his lips, quivering silently while bringing his head down.

"Hold still my dear. Bend down."

"Y – Yes."

 **. . .**

Windhelm was never imagined as a tourist spot, much less a place where neutrally-affiliated travelers could rest up before proceeding to another, more hospitable Hold – but for the most part, the city was kept in pristine working condition. Sure, there would be occasional guard shortages and budget issues, but by large the utilitarian government worked well, and it was efficient. It helped the Hold greatly that every citizen professed loyalty to the Stormcloak cause – there was more homogeneity, but in this sense there was also much unity in conformity.

The weather around Windhelm, as like its citizens – was one color, one shape, and one mindset – pure, circular blankets of white snow descending unanimously on the massive Hold, particles of the stuff floating randomly across the city while others settled atop the furry hats of annoyed residents.

However, a few snowflakes were braver than others – a set had actually ventured long enough to perch itself on the nose of the Jarl of Windhelm, large nose twitching in irritation as he surveyed his city from atop the Palace of Kings.

"You'll catch a cold standing up here Ulfric," a voice came from behind him. "Why do you insist on standing out on the balcony – at night as well?"

Ulfric Stormcloak shut his eyes in relentless frustration, ignoring cold air brush past the bristles of his dense goatee.

"To think, Galmar. To plan. To – understand my own mind, to reflect..."

He turned back to see Galmar Stone-Fist – the enormous Nord housecarl dressed in thick Stormcloack armor and wielding an iron battleaxe on his back – then smiled.

"Why have _you_ come out here?" Ulfric countered, resuming his open stare onto the flickering expanse of Windhelm. "Anything important to inform me of?"

"Not really," Galmar noted, standing next to Ulfric and similarly began looking out into the expanse. "I needed air."

Ulfric nodded. "As do I."

He furrowed his brow more against the falling snow, shifting the heavy woolen coat around his torso by shaking his shoulders – and in the process, dispelling small clumps of collected whiteness. Windhelm was bustling as usual – even at night time, citizens were active and running about, shop keepers attempting to secure yet another deal or massive groups of people protesting against "those Elf scum!". Ulfric chuckled, being able to hear most of the shouting from so far away.

"Some fellow told me Arivanya killed herself a week ago," Galmar announced, breaking the silence. "Found her body rotting in the stables – just a few hours ago."

"Ulundil's wife?" Ulfric clarified, shock inundating tone. "The stables master?"

Galmar nodded, deep voice gruffly melancholic. "The very same. She'd apparently just received word of his killing near some place – a Frostfruit Inn, I believe. Couldn't cope..."

"I never liked that man," Ulfric broke in carelessly. "Arrogant and brash..."

"Neither did I," Galmar concurred. "But still, no wife should learn of her husband's passing that way – "

Ulfric snorted. "First the Dragonborn dies, then Laila writing to me about some inspection in Riften for Stormcloak soldiers – and now my people have begun killing themselves."

His regal presence, usually calm and composed, broke for a second as he let his head fall down on a nearby stone pedestal.

"If I had the chance to move somewhere else," Ulfric began. "I would. Skyrim's a terrible place to live..."

"Ulfric," Galmar interrupted angrily. "How many times must I tell you? The Dragonborn _isn_ ' _t_ dead."

The Jarl of Windhelm let out a fat chuckle, grasping Galmar by the shoulders with a flurry of motion.

"You keep thinking that friend," Ulfric sarcastically encouraged. "She hasn't been seen in a year."

"Perhaps she's off with the Greybeards meditating," Galmar offered. "She has full authority to do what she wants with her time."

"So you honestly think she's just up and about, prancing around Skyrim?" Ulfric questioned. "I used to think highly of the Dragonborn – I'd rather think of her dying an honorable death rather than wasting time, sightseeing in fields."

"Believe what you want, I still have hope," Galmar responded tersely. "Frankly, I'm more worried about Maven."

Ulfric sighed.

"Don't do that Ulfric!" Galmar warned. "Where's the assurance that she will make good on her end of the deal?"

Ulfric shook his head. "She already has. Remember what she said?"

"Yes!" Galmar denounced. "We turn a blind eye to those savage cannibals, and Whiterun falls!"

"And it did, didn't it?" Ulfric noted. "Good for her. The apathetic 'heart' of the Empire has been destroyed. It's a Stormcloak victory in my opinion..."

"And yet, she hasn't asked us for anything in return for not riding to Whiterun's aid!" Galmar roared. "Don't you know Maven? That hag will probably leverage it against us!"

Ulfric laughed, shaking his head again.

"I'm serious," Galmar continued. "What's Maven to gain from Whiterun being destroyed? Our allegiance? She's buying us – "

"Nonsense," Ulfric immediately rang out. "It's no secret that Maven has always been on the side of the Stormcloaks – and this was her just executing her plan, that's all – we were just... _inactive_ bystanders, if you will."

"I doubt it my Jarl," Galmar recognized. "Maven is not so easily drawn to loyalties – except coin, of course."

"She's an honorable woman," Ulfric resisted.

"Only when it suits her."

"Then I suppose we should hope it suits her now."

Galmar kept quiet, biting back a retort. Ulfric looked pensive.

"In any case, we shall find out soon enough," Ulfric mentioned. "Send a courier to Riften. Tell that we're coming for a – celebratory feast."

Galmar nodded. "But why? Riften is friendly to us..."

"Exactly," Ulfric whispered, voice low with thoughtfulness. "She'll never see us coming."

Galmar looked shocked. "We're going to – kill her?"

Ulfric chuckled. "Of course not. But we will make her subservient to the Stormcloak regime – you're right, she might be trying to buy us by destroying one of our more oppositional Holds..."

Ulfric paused, face cold with logic. "... but we will – coerce her into following our lead. Coerce her to use her considerable connections to destoy Solitude next – and I shall cut off Tullius' head with my own sword."

Galmar gruffly mumbled. "I see. Turn our would-be friend into our servant, hmm?"

"All's fair in love and war," Ulfric noted.

Galmar had to agree.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _More development! More sadness! The story goes on!_

 _I promise the focus of the story is still characterization and relationships – in fact, you might note that by the end of this story (when it comes), you'll realize all this political stuff is just a backdrop for the larger themes of connection between people; at least that's the way I'm trying to write it. And yes, Lydia/Brom moments still ahead (I don't want to send the notion that after she left him their relationship was over) – because let's face it, Unsung Bard Tales is, and always will be, their story – no matter how their relationship is at the end of the story. (Hopefully that's not a spoiler by now)_

 _I think a lot of the themes are starting to crystallize the most around now -if Act I was for exposition and characterization, with Act II being further characterization and building tension – I think Act III will be the most emotional of all the parts. Please do keep reading._

 _I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_

 _P.S: If at any point you feel the Author's Notes are giving away or explaining too much, feel free to not read them..._


	36. Away (II)

**Away (II)**

* * *

"You sure you want to do this?"

"Yes."

She was determined. Nothing Laila or Tullius could say to her would change that.

And she looked the part as well. With her dwarven armor, gifted war hammer, and variety of battle tattoos across her face – Lydia almost couldn't recognize herself. She had spent so much time traveling around in rags, cheap garments, disguises – anything essentially that made her look unimportant – but now she was back to how she was. Before Frostfruit. Before the Brotherhood. Before everything.

"Now _this_ is how I remember you," Bok's voice came from behind her, watching her stare at the mirror. "Bit weird seeing you like this again."

Lydia smiled gently. She ran her fingers over the newly-painted tattoos outline her cheekbones, then over the large plates of the armor – and finally to her sides. She was grateful she was in Bok's house and not the Keep – any other people might have proved as a distraction to her.

"Thanks for clearing everything away," she noted, observing all of Bok's furniture being hastily shoved to the sides of the living room. "You didn't need to do that."

"Bok's always been a great warrior with honor," Tullius' voice rang in, previously silent. He walked closer to the giant Orc. "Right friend?"

"Correct," Bok responded mildly.

"You two know each other?" Laila inquired, adjusting Lydia's chestplate slightly. "How?"

"Back in Riverwood when he recruited me," Bok recited. "I used to be in the Imperial Army – before leaving for, better causes..."

Lydia grinned at him. "And now here you are! Civilian life..."

Bok laughed. "Yes! Funny how life takes us all in different directions..."

"Where's Riverwood?" Laila asked.

"It's a sleepy little town near Whiterun," Lydia immediately responded. "You wouldn't know it. It's too small – but hospitable."

"Lydia – stop stalling," Tullius urged, suddenly coming in front of her and the mirror. "Either we do this, or not."

She sighed. "There's no turning back I suppose."

"Yes there is," Laila encouraged. "Lydia – if you reveal yourself now, with no companions to fight with you – enemies might flock to finish you off."

"People have been thinking the Dragonborn's been dead for a year," Lydia forced. "It's time for a comeback."

"They'll be a crowd," Bok noted. "As soon as you enter Riften undisguised – people will come from all sides – wanting to see you."

"I don't care," Lydia rejected. "It's – my life. Whether I like it or not."

"I just wanted to say," Tullius broke in. "That – thank you. All this time. For being the Dragonborn. I know it wasn't your decision..."

"Never liked those damn Greybeards," Laila cut in. "Skinny old monks in some cold crag in the wilderness..."

"Have some deference my Jarl," Bok retaliated. "They after all are masters of the Voice!"

Laila and Bok became embroiled in an argument, with Tullius intermediating and laughing alongside. Lydia kept quiet – partially because she agreed with both of them, but partially also beacuse it felt good to be having her last taste of genuine laughter and good times – but like Bok said, as soon as she entered the Hold – that would be the point of no return.

Then she would cease being Lydia.

And become the _Dohvakiin._

She had to. For Skyrim.

"It's noon," Lydia observed, tracking sunlight as it poured through Bok's home. "Laila, are the horses ready?"

Bok stopped arguing immediately. Laila turned to Lydia, nodding her head.

"A hundred are prepped and ready to go, near the Stables," she informed. "But I sincerely doubt you'll pick up a hundred citizens from Riften alone."

"I won't," Lydia remarked. "Perhaps ten or so companions – at the most. But after that, the rest are coming from any place we can – on the way to Whiterun."

"Even if you _do_ take the Hold back from those monsters," Tullius interrupted. "What are the odds Balgruuf will be there?"

"I don't know," Lydia fired back, walking to the ornate door exiting the spacious room. "But we can definitely find out where he is from talking to our... prisoners."

She opened the door, and warm, embracing sunlight hit her face. Again a feeling she wasn't used to – the weather so far had been nothing but coldness, darkness, and heaps of mounted frigidity – but it felt different now. It was uplifting – battle ready almost, encouraging. She eyed the glimmering Hold in the distance, making her way to it.

"Those are a lot of horses," Lydia spoke out, trodding across thick grass and wet mud – she had seen the stables in the distance, packed to the brim with horses lined up around. "You really did get a hundred."

"When I help my friend prepare for war," Laila noted. "I help my friend as best I can."

Lydia smiled, soothed by all of their footsteps behind her – except Bok's. He had requested to stay behind – and never before had she uttered a more fervent affirmative response. She understood exactly how it felt, and how important that gift of obscurity was.

But the other footsteps felt supporting, almost as if they were right along her side through the last moments of anonymity. They were about a hundred paces from Riften's gates now, manned by two guards.

"Lydia, I should tell you something," Laila interjected, quickening her pace to catch up with Lydia. "But please don't get angry."

Lydia furrowed her brow. "What?"

"I know you didn't want to talk about him anymore," Laila started. "But Brom. He – hasn't come into work in two days – his supervisor tells me his farm's been almost abandoned."

Lydia frowned. "So? Stop paying him. Remove him from your service."

Laila clearly didn't expect this completely apathetic response. "But – erm, I thought it might have something to do with you."

Lydia let out a harsh, biting laugh – almost akin to a wolf howl. "He's not my responsibility anymore."

"What do you think he's doing?"

"Getting drunk in an Inn? Lying in a ditch somewhere, Skooma in hand? Who cares..."

Lydia began walking faster, now close enough for the two guards at the Gates to shriek in excitement.

The taller one spoke first, helmet masking his excitement. "The Dragonborn! My Jarl! General – Tullius?"

Lydia nodded slowly, having expected literally every single word and dramatic gesticulation.

"Talos be praised!" the shorter guard sounded off. "What a day! By the – I can't believe what's happening right now..."

Lydia smiled robotically, taking advantage of their excitement before shoving past the twin gates and into Riften.

Life was unfolding before her. Guards standing obediently at certain sections of the Hold. Citizens walking carelessly about. Kids chatting and running around the busy marketplace. And the sunlight – bright and voluminous – showing each and every detail, every smile and face, every frown and smirk... all too clear to Lydia. It seemed rude to break it.

"Attention, everyone!" Lydia's voice came out, booming over the commotion.

She chuckled internally. She hadn't used that voice in a year.

A crowd. Just as Bok had described. Several yells – a few hoots, some screaming... a few ladies fainted to the ground.

"By the – look, it's the Dragonborn!"

"Praise Talos! No one can kill the _Dohvakiin!_ "

"She's alive?"

"She's alive!"

"Everyone, come and look – the Dragonborn is alive!"

Lydia kept her face at absolute neutrality. She was used to it. It didn't exactly bother her at this point – but it felt morose perhaps, going from just two seconds ago to what she had become now.

"Attention all! I – hey – I said settle down!"

Immediately the crowd silenced in response to the same booming voice she used – eager onlookers, at least five-hundred stong – were packing the city entrance now, guards included.

"I am looking for warriors to accompany me," Lydia spoke carefully, looking back for reassurance at both Laila and Tullius – who hadn't even been acknowledged by the crowd. "Men and women are allowed. Only those with fierce hearts and unbreakable spirits – and those willing to die."

A flurry of questions.

"What?"

"What happened?"

" _Dohvakiin_ , why come back from the dead to just fight another – "

"SILENCE!"

The booming voice helped again. Lydia tried once more.

"Whiterun has fallen," she bluntly stated, ignoring immediate murmurs and gasps from the crowd. "The city has been taken by a massive army – at least several thousand-strong..."

She briefly glanced back at Tullius for confirmation. He nodded.

Lydia turned back to the crowd. "And thus – I need several men to come with me..."

More loud responses. Lydia shut them down with that same voice again.

"Let me finish!" she roared, growing a bit annoyed now. "I need only warrirors! Mages! Anyone experienced _greatly,_ and I mean _greatly..._ in battle. And don't lie! I am the Dragonborn, I can tell when you lie..."

This was completely false. Lydia had no such Shout or power – but the effect was enough. Laila and Tullius chuckled knowingly behind her as most of the crowd immediately silenced itself.

Lydia smiled. She had no time to sort through each person's individual abilties then start ranking them – instead, if she could intimdate most of the pretend-warriors off, then she would be automatically left with the most resilient group possible – it was a crude method, but unquestionably effective.

Then suddenly, hordes of citizens began separating themselves from the crowd.

"The name's Tulso," a short, thickly-bearded Nord announced. "I've been with the College of Winterhold for thirty years – before quitting."

"A mage," Lydia whispered behind her. "That's good."

She looked around. Several more people waited patiently in a line horizontally positioned to her.

"I have no family," a stunningly beautiful Redguard woman stated. "I have no husband. I have no reason to live – I was a mage with the College also."

Lydia nodded, feeling a bit of empathy rise up. She looked at the three other eager citizens, all men – who resembled each other very much.

"We are the Yolin brothers," the trio proclaimed. "We know how to fight."

Lydia almost chuckled. It was such a simple explanation – but she trusted in herself. There was no way they would say this – unless they were very confident.

"How well can you fight?" Tullius questioned behind her.

"We've killed Giants before Dragonborn," the triplet proudly rang. "We can fight for you."

This group's unified responses were drawing some laughter from the crowd. Lydia used her authoritative voice again.

"Keep in mind, we leave in a few hours for Whiterun," she announced. "So I suggest packing soon."

The crowd began discussion in earnest, shifting focus to interrogate the chosen five warriors as they struggled to get back to their respective homes. Lydia took the opportunity to flash a few questions of her own at Laila and Tullius.

"How many Imperial officers can you recruit before we reach Whiterun?" Lydia asked, staring at Tullius in anticipation.

"Oh," Tullius started, not expecting it. "About fifty or so. I have a few discrete camps set up nearby..."

"Laila," Lydia began next. "How many guards are employed in Riften?"

Laila understood where this was going. "Lydia... leave me a little at least to defend my own H – "

"I need half of them," Lydia cut across. "Is that okay?"

Laila seemed relieved. "Yes, that's more than helpful. That should be about – another thirty five men, I reckon."

"Good," Lydia agreed.

"Then what was the point of calling out for citizen help?" Tullius inquired. "Why even bother if you're just going to milk us?"

Lydia grinned. "The best warriors typically don't swear themselves to a cause – like the Empire or Riften – so I'm very much expecting those five to be top-class warriors."

Laila and Tullius seemed to understand. Lydia started walking away from the crowd, still engrossed in talking to the two mages and triplet of brothers.

"I'm going to say a final farewell to Bok," Lydia mentioned. "I'll see you both just before I leave with the horses and the men. Inform your guards Laila."

Laila nodded, but was smirking somewhat. "Sure. Lydia – you seem so – bossy today."

"I noted the very same," Tullius concurred.

Lydia frowned. "Well that's what people want right? Dragonborn – bark orders and kill men. Great life."

Lydia tilted her head to the ground before proceeding out of the Hold – resolutely, but defiantly all the same.

 **. . .**

It was hard to keep track of time. He had faded into and out of consciousness several times over the past – what was it?

 _Days?_

 _Weeks?_

Brom doubted it was weeks, but then again there were seconds that felt like days – while other hours felt like mere seconds. There was no consistent pattern of time he could be kept to – and every time they – they _visited,_ time seemed to move much slower than Brom wanted it to.

Recently, they had noticed that each one of their visits left Brom sufficiently bloodied as well as covered with various other bodily fluids – and thus, each progressive visit was becoming less enjoyable for them. So, several of their own had suggested cleaning Brom up briefly after each of them finished their enjoyment, and in some twisted way – Brom felt just a bit thankful for that. In a way, it might have been poetic as well – to hurt and violate, crush and consume – then rebuild. Then do all the same, again and again.

He was in darkness once more. He had grown so finely attuned to the flicker of a lantern that as soon as he saw the faintest glitter of light, he began removing his rags of clothing, idly tossing them to the side so at least one aspect of his being could remain untouched and pure. Their visits had begun to increase in duration as well, so there was no point in tearing both his skin and clothes in one go.

Speaking of tears, Brom often noticed – in his numerous sleepless hours spent rolling around in the darkness – that certain sections of his back and thighs were brusied beyond repair. He could feel them pulsing dully every now and then, whereas before he was clearly aware of the massive amount of pain rippling through every inch of skin. This was another bad sign.

He didn't dare think about the state of his pelvis, groin, or any place between his waist and knees. That would be a sure-fire way to finding the strength to bash his head against a rock and eventually let the trauma get the better of him.

He sniffled. When they visited, he was often asked why he cried so much during their moments together – which were, as they put it – _pleasurable_ for both parties. Brom didn't know why either, but then realized that even as he lay there, below those sweating, heavy bodies – his face was always neutral, devoid of emotion. It were his damned eyes that were reacting to everything, still pretending as if he was in a situation that could be escaped from. His mind had moved on long ago, and had begun to look forward to those rare moments alone in the darkness – while his body was foolish, naive to say the least – it would still instinctively scan the surroundings, looking for exit points.

But they spoke a lot when they were with him. While they were on top of him.

Certain things stuck out more than the groaning, pushing and thursting. For instance, they often began ranting about Balgruuf's state, and his refusal to cooperate – then they would talk about their employer, but never refer to the name... vague amounts of gold were mentioned, something to do with a plan and a deadline coming up very soon...

But more rarely, and probably the most infrequent amount of times – they would discuss Lydia. Not even mention her lack of an attempt to bargain with them for Brom's life, but they would discuss different things about her.

They would talk about her hair.

About how pretty of a _fishy_ she was.

About how they wished she would come to them – not for Brom, but for pure fun. They seemed intrigued by her.

By her presence. By her beauty. By her supposed power.

Often times they would break from the action and ask Brom for his opinion on her. Then, he was faced with two choices – either respond (with a lie or a truth, it made no difference in his heart) and perhaps their usage of his body would cease for a brief pause – or adamantly refuse to talk, and proceed to quietly bear several more extended minutes of the same movements he had grown so used to – shocking, rocking, thrusting right through everything.

He had always kept his mouth shut.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Not as eventful, but hopefully progressive! I still have all the chapters mapped out, so no fear. Conflicts will get resolved, and the story will come to an end – it's all heading a certain way. Be sure to keep track of events in previous chapters if you're feeling confused – things snowball and interreact quite a lot here – which I'm sure you already know. Apologies? :) Also, all the characters from before are still relevant, even if they don't quite make an appearance in this chapter..._

 _I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	37. Away (III)

**Away (III)**

* * *

Her hands were shaking.

Her arms refused to move. But they had to. Struggling but resilient, she began to write, hesitant letters printing shakily on patches of scrap paper.

 _Dearest Brom_.

"No, no that's stupid..."

 _The love of my –_

"Idiot, idiot, stupid, stupid..."

Perhaps she should tell Keeko. But that would just mean he would hold her back from doing so – after all, this was her decision. It was her mark on his life. On her life. Or lack thereof.

She smiled. Perhaps she should have made that into a poem. She picked up the feather quill again, dotting clear letters for the first time in many hours. The darkened silence of night time and snoring of Black-Briar manor enveloped her.

 _Brom,_

 _Thank you for being one of the few people who truly saw past me just being another scummy Black-Briar. Thank you for being that true friend. Thank you for showing an affection to me that I never received from my father, my grandmother – or anyone else in this accursed, rotten family._

 _But now you have left me. I know it. It's been more than a week._

 _Now you don't seem to care. You tell us to leave – just as that stupid Dragonborn flaunts her way back into town. Just as she comes in, you push away from us. From Keeko. From Sibbi. From me. You don't get to do that to tender hearts._

 _I don't even think you're in Riften anymore – probably sold your soul to the Dragonborn, just like any power-hungry, coin-grubbing lunatic. I –_

She stopped, tears smudging fresh ink. She wiped them off before continuing.

 _I know you did this because you're nothing but a shallow boy, with an even shallower mind. I feel – embarassed to have connected my heart to you. You've just proven to be that what Maven's saying for years has been right – everyone's the fucking same._

 _Cruel and unrepentant. I don't want to live in a world like Skyrim – where everyone deserves to rot in Sovngarde._

 _~Alondria_

She slammed the quill against the paper, breaking the tip. Fresh tears surfaced, passing across the paper before she hastily went to the center of her room, immediately seeing the purple vial laying idly, rolling on the wooden floors.

It was much larger than the usual ones she, Brom and Keeko used to drink. It was far more potent, and significantly thicker in consistency. Sibbi had asked her why she needed it, but she knew he wouldn't figure it out.

No one would.

How could someone understand her?

A quick swig of the bottle. Instant darkness.

 **. . .**

For the most part, everything was going smoothly.

Aside from a painful leave she shared with Laila, Lydia had most of her new – _volunteers –_ organized properly, and they were making good ground time as well, having traversed well past the colder regions near Rifen – now, they were in intensively warm, laborious grassfields with irregular hills to either side. Trees seemed to only amplify the ongoing sense of discomfiting heat.

They had been traveling for a good week or so, and she had expected to reach Shor's Stone by now – but apparently, in her relentless urgency to reach Whiterun more quickly – they had bypassed it and were now about a few hours away from Darkwater Crossing. This made Whiterun at least ten days away, even considering the group's considerable speed – Lydia wondered whether she would be arriving too late.

A major disappointment proved yet again to be Tullius' work. Far away from his quoted estimate of fifty men, he had managed to recruit approximately thirteen capable Imperial guards – most of which Lydia noted to come from random locations. None of them seemed particularly enthusiastic towards fighting, and to her slight surprise – a few of them even didn't seem to care that Lydia was present. Rather, most of the men seemed elusive to orders and reluctant to take authority from Lydia directly – at least without using Tullius as a mouthpiece.

"It's noon," a female voice came from behind her, riding horseback as she wiped her brows against the beating sun – heat unusually intense today.

"It's time for the count. We still have all the men?"

"Let's check," Lydia agreed, turning back to count the number of horsetop figures. "Thirty five Riften guards, thirteen of Tullius' men, and four of the citizens I picked out – along with you and me."

The Redguard woman, dressed in mage robes with a black, velvet finish – beamed with content.

"I wish you would tell me your name," Lydia inquired, slowing her own horse imperceptibly to allow the Redguard to catch up. "I'm good with names you know."

"It doesn't matter," the woman growled in annoyannce. "I understand you are the legendary Dragonborn – but that part of me died a long time ago. With my husband."

Lydia awkwardly shifted the gifted warhammer on her back, unsure of how to approach this.

"It's not a story worth telling," the Redguard predicted, calming Lydia. "Just a sad one – not very appealing."

"Anything that could have been done to stop it?" Lydia prodded, carefully scrutinizing the woman's reactions.

Most of it was indistinguishable, a fluid balance between anger and guilt – but not justified guilt, but more of an ever-present guilt that so often affected the loved ones of a dead man – but the anger was definitely there.

"No," the Redguard firmly noted. "No."

"You seem to be trying to convince yourself of that," Lydia added, assured that her status would take her past any anger that might well up within the woman.

"Perhaps I am," she responded tersely, slowing her own horse down to rejoin the rest of the group.

Lydia smiled. _That_ would be an entirely new adventure – getting to know most of her new group. The guards from Riften and Tullius' "recruitment" efforts posed no interest to her – they were classical, walking stereotypes. However, the five citizens chosen appeared to be worth every coin Lydia wasn't paying them with.

There was a choice to be made here – and it had been troubling her ever since she had left Riften. The fundamental desire in her heart, mostly the foolish part – told her to try to integrate herself within the group, try to bond somehow.

Then the practical side rang in. She had no idea how long these five would last – morbid, but entirely accurate.

Another dangerous consequence. Bonding with them also meant taking a chance on them to survive past Whiterun, then truly solidfying the bond – but if they didn't survive, she would be left with a clump of emotions that would only serve to weigh her down.

Just like the mistakes she had always made. Time and time again.

By far, they had posed more intrigue than any other group Lydia had served along in her considerable years standing as the Dragonborn. The Yolin brothers appeared to be perpetually lost in fits of squealing hysteria with each other, leading the pack just behind Lydia with an array of poorly executed inside jokes – and then there was the bearded mage.

 _Tulso_ , _weird one you are_ , Lydia privately chuckled.

And weird he was. Short and bearded to begin with, but an eeringly powerful mage: to Lydia's shock, he had managed to summon a lighting storm wide enough to bring down a good section of hilly grasslands inconveniencing the group's way forward – and then proceeded to go back to his tenable silence. He rarely spoke, and always with perfect purpose and lack of hesitation... and then that enigma of a widowed Redguard.

 _Must be a mage thing_ , Lydia mused. _Act like a bunch of snobby –_

"Lydia!"

The exaggerated voice brought her to groan for the fifth time in an hour.

"What now Tullius?" she replied, turning to her right to see the figure slightly disoriented atop his horse.

"How close are we to Whiterun?"

"Ten days," Lydia promptly responded. "Didn't one of those Imperial idiots tell you that an hour ago?"

"That's the thing," Tullius repeated. "They appear to be idiots – never knew the Empire was this desperate for warriors that they'd just – "

"I need real fighters Tullius," Lydia let out, failing to repress her anger. "The men you've scrapped together – they're barely a year or two out of the academy."

"They have all the training of a full guard," Tullius noted. "You should be lucky to even get these many!"

"You said fifty moron," Lydia spat. "Thirteen is barely a quarter of the number you promised me."

"We're also not all the way there, are we?" Tullius retaliated.

"By Talos, what are you going to do when we reach there?" Lydia questioned. "Start asking the cannibals if they'd like to join the Imperial Army?"

"Bugger off," Tullius forced. "I can pull at least another ten or so men before Whiterun – but any more than that – I suppose I overestimated."

"So when you say ten," Lydia began. "When translated that means two, right?"

"You ought to be thankful we're packing fewer men," Tullius breathed, trying to avoid the eavesdropping of the suddenly curious Yolin brothers, peeking ever so slightly behind them.

"Why?"

"Your return to the public life assuredly made an impact on Skyrim," Tullius affirmed. "Hell, your enemies will all be coming for you now."

"News spreads that fast?" Lydia queried.

"Faster than that," Tullius agreed. "Especially in illegal – matters.

Lydia felt a surge of panic shoot through. She had forgot to account for this; what if the cannibals and another force – at best case the Brotherhood, and worst case Alduin himself – joined forces? That would be far too much for her tiny team to combat, and she wasn't even sure this was enough for the cannibals alone...

"Don't stress about it too much," Tullius assuaged. "Skyrim's complex. People won't make a move on you until they're certain you're exposed..."

"I don't care about what happens to me," Lydia emphasized. "I've been through much worse. I'm worried about the fate of all those traveling with me."

"Good mentality," Tullius noted. "But – since their primary target is _you_ , they wouldn't approach you without the certainty that they'll have a chance of killing – "

"They always think they'll kill me," Lydia mentioned with a chuckle, turning her gaze back to the thick stretch of grassland appearing ahead of her.

"Everybody does."

 **. . .**

"But she's a smart fishy!"

"No doubt! But how about in magic?"

"Oh! Never – ah – had – oh yeah – such a great – ERG FISHY!"

Brom coughed out reflexively, allowing the residue to pool away from his mouth before dropping to his knees. He wiped any remnants away from his mouth before immediately feeling his torso slam the ground again, eyes white and unfocused for a second before re-centering.

They were all still there – less than usual this time however. Only about six Khajiit, and at least two appeared to be interested in just talking over all the thrusting, instead of participating themselves.

"Tell me fishy, what do you think of Anise?"

Brom understood he was being talked to. He stared at the figure in front of him, halting his motions as Brom pondered over his response, legs roughly hoisted into the air.

"I – I d – don't know her," he simply replied.

It wasn't fear inducing the stutter. It was the residue. He hadn't done it correctly. The lantern light flickered idly in the distance.

"Oh well," the Khajiit responded, pushing Brom's legs apart before shoving forward again.

Several more moments of flesh ripping through flesh. Brom noticed his arms passively lying crossed above his head. He wasn't bound by any rope – but for some reason he didn't feel like moving his arms anymore. He didn't feel like moving anything anymore. All he was capable of doing – was lying there. He was advised to try to be good at it.

The Khajiit abruptly stopped, relaxing the pressure on Brom's thighs. "Wanna try two at a time fishy?"

A Khajiit purred behind him. Brom kept his eyes fixated on the Khajiit in front, still keeping his legs under complete control.

"Please – one question."

The Khajiit laughed. "What?"

Brom repeated himself. "One question. Then yes. Then two at a time. Three at a time. Anything you – you want husband. My husbands. Please."

"Very well my dear," the Khajiit on top relocated, resuming the pushing. "What is it?"

"How – ah – long – has it – ah, very good husband – been since I came – ah – here?"

"About a week," the Khajiit noted. "Why?"

"Just making sure – oh, yes... that no one comes to – ah – take away my husbands."

Brom smiled, moisure again filling his eyes – stupidly, reluctantly. The Khajiit man smiled before motioning for the other one to join in.

Brom acted quickly. "One more question. Please my husband... I love you so much – "

"No one likes a nagging wife fishy," the Khajiit frowned, but Brom widened his eyes. "Fine. What else?"

Brom noticed how he stopped moving. "Where am I?"

"Suppose there's no harm in telling you now," the Khajiit agreed. "After all, you _want_ to be here, right?"

Brom nodded eagerly, tears welling up.

"You want to be my wife, right?"

Another nod.

"No one will come for you, right?"

The strongest nod of all.

"Whiterun."

* * *

 **A/N (unnecessarily long again)**

 _Back with a bang! Anyway, thanks very much to all the readers who waited so long for this chapter to come out – life gets unnecessarily hectic sometimes, and I know I'm a few days late (even to my own deadline) – but at least I'm here, right? (Wrong?)_

 _Anyways, feel free to read over last chapters to keep in track all the plotlines – it's a bit busy during the initial part of the Third Act, at least for a while – even I had to read previous chapters to make sure continuity was going strong!_

 _Yep, all the plot threads introduced last chapter continue, I haven't forgotten about Character X, Plot Thread Z, or Development Y, don't worry... Hope the wait was worth it for most folks! I hope this chapter progresses the story on all fronts in the clearest way possible. On another note, writing Brom's sections has got to be the most painful thing at this point – everything else feels natural and feels good to write..._

 _I'll try my best to update regularly from now on. (gonna shoot for the 2-3 day benchmark once again) I realize this is a bit of a running gag on this story, so – ha ha?_

 _As always, I'd appreciate any support and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_

 _P.S: Recent reviews and P.M's have been really sweet lately. Thanks very much!_

 _P.P.S: Just out of personal curiosity, anyone think the Alondria thing was too random? I tried to imply a certain connection throughout their time together, but if it felt awkward, let me know... not that I can change it after it's published (unless literally just one person reads, gives feedback, then I can change it before anyone else reads LOL), but you know..._

 _P.P.P.S (I don't know if this abbreviation exists): If you ever wonder why I change the Title and Description so much, it's honestly because I feel the story evolves slightly with every chapter. Just for reference's sake on how much the story evolves:_

 _When I started writing chapter one: I thought I could write a comedy-drama-suspense story about brom and skulvar becoming the top blacksmiths/chefs in Skyrim._

 _That compared to what it is now: Wow._

 _I think however, after the first few chapters with Lydia/Brom solidified what I wanted the story to be._

 _:)_


	38. The Things Bards Sing About (I)

**The Things Bards Sing About (I)**

* * *

Ulfric Stormcloak had elected to taken a rather roundabout path to Riften, against the advice of Galmar. Despite the old Nord's valiant proclamations over the need to conserve the men's energy and hurry the pace so they could reach the Hold more quickly, Ulfric had chosen curiosity over safety.

Visiting Whiterun was a dangerous proposition – Maven had assured him that those cannibals would prove friendly to his forces, but Ulfric understood their underlying nature – and subsequently fought against the urge to befriend them. So far, the thirty or so elite warriors he had brought with him were still alive and well – none of the cannibals seemed interested in feeding in any case.

What was truly unsettling was Ulfric's lack of knowledge over any of their names. The Khajiit seldom talked to him, relegating him and his men to a large tent just outside what was formerly Pelagia Farms – the building was abandoned, and Ulfric guessed the previous owner to have been dead or captured. The tent itself was complete with furnished tables and thick bedrolls situated nearby. It could house them comfortably – but other than providing food and water, little interaction between the groups was there. They had been there for just a few hours, but already Ulfric could sense a coldness from them – the Khajiit were professional and coldly courteous... he wondered how much Maven had paid them to cooperate reluctantly with him.

Watching his band of warriors drink and sing merry songs, Ulfric bowed himself out without notice, pushing open the long white flaps of the tent before immersing himself into cool moonlight. The strong reflection cast by his steel armor caught the eye of a nearby Khajiit dressed in a dark robe, who promptly chuckled before walking to Ulfric's side.

"Beauty, isn't it?" the Khajiit asked, staring at Whiterun.

Ulfric followed his eye movements towards the distant horizon, glimpsing the entire city. Whiterun didn't look beautiful at all.

In the illuminating waves of moonlight shining above and in front of him, the great Hold once known as the shimmering heart of Skyrim appeared deflated and changed – the tall walls bordering the city were _completely_ covered with what Ulfric assumed to be dark grey banners, with a fine red finish visible even from this distance. The entrance appeared lifeless and mostly devoid of description – Ulfric could only guess that most of the Khajiit (and whichever citizens they chose to spare) were living inside the city, seemingly impenetrable from his viewpoint with all the wooden barricades and additional Khajiit positioned at the entrances...

"What happens inside?" Ulfric questioned, knowing better.

The Khajiit laughed. "We eat some fishies. We play with some fishies. Mostly – we just live there. Master Maven said we could keep it."

"Keep which?" Ulfric pushed. "The city or the – _fishies_?"

He felt disgusting just saying that.

"Both," the Khajiit happily proclaimed. "We're thinking about renaming the entire thing..."

"I never got to say congratulations, and give thanks," Ulfric broke in. "For getting this. It's – been helpful to our cause."

"You've scratched our backs as well," the Khajiit responded. "With your inaction – we now have a Hold full of the tastiest fishies... well, the ones that are still alive anyway..."

The Khajiit flashed a mirthless grin, mechanically moving his mouth in revolting, horribly accurate chomping noises.

"Good," Ulfric stuttered, unsure of what to say. "Very – erm, good..."

"When will you leave us?" the Khajiit queried immediately. "And where are you off to?"

"Probably by noon tomorrow," Ulfric answered. "And that – is not your concern."

He had to do this. Ulfric wasn't sure how many informants were within their group, and how many of them would tip off Maven before he and his men had a chance to reach Riften first.

"Private fishy," the Khajiit suddenly antagonized, smiling ominously. "Good policies..."

Ulfric suppressed an urge to retaliate, aware that the Khajiit had several thousand men compared to his thirty. He headed back to the delusion of safety that was the tent, leaving the smiling Khajiit slightly excited but restrained behind him.

 **. . .**

"Lydia."

"What?"

"Your feet."

She startled and looked down, seeing two wrinkled feet shake considerably underneath cool streams of water. She at once removed them, putting on her boots before moving away from the river she was sitting by. The moonlight bounced around the air, showing hills and gigantic boulders nearby – as well as a dirt trail and the resting figures of all her companions, lying lazily on bedrolls next to their horses. Lydia wished she could have found a more isolated, warmer place to sleep for them. According to her map, they were somewhere near the river, with Honningbrew Meadery on the other distant side of the water.

"Do a quick head count?" Tullius asked, sitting down next to her.

Lydia sighed. "Thirty-five Riften guards still here, five of my hand-chosen citizens still here, and _only_ twenty Imperial soldiers here..."

"Sorry again," Tullius reclaimed. "I – I sincerely thought I could get more of them. I mean – we traveled for ten days, almost non-stop... I had hoped – "

"You promised me fifty," Lydia restated, seemingly bored of repeating this. "And you give me less than half that."

"I was hoping Fort Amol would have more," Tullius noted. "But as you remember, nothing but bandits and dead horses..."

She sighed again. "I suppose it's not your fault. The way Skyrim's going these days..."

"Everyone says that!" Tullius reprimanded. "Skyrim this, Skyrim that! Where's your loyalty?"

Lydia shook her head, vision drawn to the just-visible outline of Whiterun, appearing grey and faded in the distance. The previous hustle of life that was omnipresent in the city didn't appear to exist anymore – no travelers had emerged from the trail leading away from Whiterun, and the giant Hold appeared to be in a deathly, silent state. If the moonlight wasn't there, Lydia wouldn't have even guessed they had reached the city.

"It used to be so beautiful," Lydia bit back, eyes tracing the hazy ridges of the city walls.

"Think anyone's still alive in there?" Tullius questioned, seeing the Hold with Lydia. "I mean – considering how many of those freaks are inside with them..."

"I just hope Balgruuf's still alive," Lydia honestly broke in, unable to contain herself. "He – he's been a good friend to me. I couldn't imagine coming all this way – "

"Don't get your hopes up," Tullius corrected. "Lydia... we don't know his state still."

"I know," Lydia agreed. "But I just wish that he is. Illogical but – comforting, I suppose."

She turned to Tullius, observing those aged features with half-healed injuries sympathetically.

"You know we'll be in combat by tomorrow morning," Lydia recognized. "You want to sit this one out? You barely escaped from their clutches..."

"I'd rather kill these bastards and get my revenge," Tullius spat. "Never heard of such – evil men. I'd die fighting than hiding."

"Righteous ego will never win a battle," Lydia advised, still fixated by Whiterun's outline. "Believe me – I've been through that."

"Speaking of which, how sure are you?" Tullius intervened.

Lydia smiled. "Sure of what?"

"Sure that this'll all work out in the end," Tullius affirmed. "Sure that we'll win. You know how much of an advantage in numbers they have..."

"Doesn't matter," Lydia mentioned. "I have a plan."

"Mind telling me?" Tullius annoyingly asked. "Mind telling any of our men?"

" _My_ men," Lydia forced. "But yes – stealth is key."

"Elaborate?"

"There's probably about a good five hundred Khajiit stationed outside the city," Lydia mapped out. "They're in disconnected groups... we can take them all out quietly without alerting any others."

"Okay, five hundred gone," Tullius agreed with the logic. "What about inside the city?"

"Assuming estimates are right, there'll be another fifteen hundred – the bulk of their army, packed into the city," Lydia quoted.

"So they're _not_ disconnected. No chance of stealth there."

"Not exactly," Lydia corrected. "We'll need to attack them in the very early morning, when most are asleep and can't counter any magic or arrows – because if they do, we're in for a long, bloody battle."

Tullius nodded. Lydia continued. "So then I go into the Hold first, while you all wait underneath the ground."

"What?" Tullius immediately questioned.

Lydia chuckled. "It's an old-fashioned trick in warfare. Hide our men underneath the ground."

"Then wait for what?"

"I'll be inside the Hold," Lydia enforced. "I figure with a grand fire spell of mine, I can finish off at least five hundred of them..."

"With one spell?" Tullius restated. "Really?"

"That's the point," Lydia returned. "I won't be able to do much magic after that – in fact, I'll come running outside."

"And they'll all chase you," Tullius remarked. "Then we pop out?"

"Again, not exactly," Lydia disagreed. "After I lead them across a certain point, only the two mages will pop up – Tulso and the Redguard woman – and they'll attack the cannibals from behind."

"Ingenious!" Tullius exclaimed. "That's got to take care of – what, another couple hundred? They're powerful mages after all..."

"Right," Lydia agreed, happy to receive encouragement. " _Then_ the rest of you pop out from another space, and start with _arrows_ first..."

"Another couple hundred killed immediately," Tullius strategized. "So what, the final tally of fully alert cannibals to us is – five hundred to our sixty?"

Tullius seemed more disappointed after doing the mathematics. "Lydia – even assuming all this goes right... we're still outnumbered nearly ten to one."

"And it'll be pure sword against sword," Lydia noted. "With me and the mages probably too drained to do magic... and Talos forbid if any of the cannibals can do magic or Shouts..."

"So in our best case scenario – we have extremely long odds?"

Lydia nodded sadly. "My plan doesn't seem all that ingenious now, does it?"

Tullius frowned, then perked up his ears in sudden fear. "A noise. Lydia!"

Lydia spun about, standing up and withdrew her warhammer before relaxing. A simple courier boy was approaching her atop a small mare, recognizable by the clear label of the Empire stamped on his long traveler's robe.

"Left Riften about two days after your group," the boy noted, huffing slightly as he made his way over to Lydia, tightly furled scroll clenched in his right fist. "You all moved quickly, Dragonborn. Nearly missed you all."

Lydia nodded gruffly. "A message? From Riften?"

"Indeed," the boy noted. "Here."

Lydia accepted the small scroll, watching the courier boy take a moment to catch his breath before proceeding back in the opposite direction, annoying his horse.

"Poor boy," Tullius noted. "Has to go all the way back now."

"Couriers are richer than you'd think," Lydia corrected, unfurling the scroll and squinting at the letters written – apparently in deep fright, judging by the irregular composition and awkward grammar.

 _Lydia,_

 _Maven trying to buy me. Offering private warriors and bodyguards as bribe for me – since I've lost so many of the city Guard. Is actively threatening against me and the entire Hold – implying that without a proper defense, Riften will fall to enemy forces. Thieves' Guild resurfacing. I feel like some piece in her game._

"Damn it," Lydia exclaimed, earning a look of disapproval from Tullius as he similarly read over the letter.

 _She lost her grand daughter some time last week. Appears to be vengeful – towards you, for some odd reason. Implying more evil things to happen to both of us. Look out for yourself, and keep yourself sharp out there._

 _I know you're occupied with taking back Whiterun at the moment. Hope this letter reaches you after all that is resolved (and I know you will). Sorry to seem like such a nagging friend – but I need you. More than ever._

 _Friend in need,_

 _Laila_

"By Talos," Tullius broke in. "The stupid woman can't run a Hold for a few weeks without it all going to Sovngarde. And the pressure you're being put under! The stress, and you're not even done with – "

Lydia was tuning out most of his words. She was agreeing with Tullius every sentence of the way, but was too lost in her own thoughts to analyze them.

"One problem at a time," she centered, grasping Tullius on the shoulder. "That's how this operates."

She shoved the paper into her pockets, shutting her eyes and attempting to rid herself of what was there, in preparation of what was to come.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _As you've probably noticed, no Brom section! I think after the revelation that he's in Whiterun came out, there's no other significant development to tell (everything that's happening to can probably be inferred now) – and most of you can probably predict at least one thing that's happening next chapter :)_

 _I think Whiterun is a nice way to focus back all the conflict in the story, but as I've told before – this story has 50 chapters, with 38 done – so even after the whole Whiterun arc is over with, it won't be over... until chapter 50, that is. And don't worry, I won't keep the story predictable in any sense of the word..._

 _In fact, there's a lot of tension building up, and a lot of characters in Whiterun now – hope everyone's looking forward to the next chapter! And as usual, feel free to read past chapters if feeling lost – I make a lot of callbacks and re-read from time to time to make sure everything is continuous..._

 _As always, I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	39. The Things Bards Sing About (II)

**The Things Bards Sing About (II)**

* * *

"You aren't scared?"

"No."

"Good."

Lydia took another glance at the Redguard woman, making sure she wasn't lying to her. To her extreme surprise, most of her body language was coinciding with her message.

She turned to the rest of the group, just barely visible with the ignition of a flame spell – it was still well before dawn after all, and most of them had slept for barely four hours. Tullius was at the front of the group, wide-eyed but resolute – to his sides, the arguing but jovial Yolin brothers... and behind them, a cold-looking Tulso. The fifty or so Riften guards and Tullius' Imperial brethren formed the bulk of the group, staying quietly behind the forerunners.

"Dragonborn, I must tell you something."

Lydia turned away from the group, casually kicking water in the river before staring at the Redguard woman with intent.

"I – I may have not been honest with you," she slowly stated, expecting an adverse reaction. "I – I – well please understand."

"I don't know what you're going to say yet," Lydia affirmed. "I can't promise you anything."

The Redguard woman breathed a sigh of relief. "I – I am prepared to die."

Lydia smiled and shook her head. "Good. But to – "

"You misunderstand," the woman corrected. "I – I want to die."

Lydia narrowed her eyes. "Respected mage, heroism is no reason to – "

"You remember my dead husband?" the Redguard broke in, stepping closer to Lydia. "My dead children?"

"Yes," Lydia slurred. "But grief is no reason to – "

"It is," she interrupted firmly. "Please do not convince me otherwise."

"I've been through grief," Lydia forced. "I know the feeling of it. But taking your life for it..."

She stopped, hoping for the mage to react in uncertainty. She was disappointed.

"Are you sure this is the right thing for you?" Lydia tried again, hope dwindling.

"Yes," the Redguard simply stated. "It is – the way it has to be."

Lydia brought her gaze down to the darkened ground, fixated by a few blades of grass.

"You'll draw most of the enemy fire I suppose?" Lydia asked.

"Best way to help out the group," the Redguard affirmed. "And – the best way to achieve my – my end as well."

Lydia nodded before extending her hand reluctantly. "It's – it's – been good knowing you, I suppose."

The Redguard woman flashed an unexpectedly friendly smile, then grasped Lydia's hand with sincerity.

Lydia continued the motion for a while before drawing away. She advanced herself a few paces to front of the group, satisfied that she had already told everyone what their positions were. The only matter now was to hope that everyone would follow her directions – best case scenario, only a few would die. Worst case – she hadn't thought that far into it.

She looked back at the Redguard, standing proudly at the front of the cloaked group, jolly smile plastered on. Lydia didn't know how to feel at this – but was somewhat grateful she hadn't let too much of her emotions get attached to her. It was certainly unexpected, and meant she would likely have to supplement her new group once Whiterun was dealt with (assuming anyone survived) – but she focused herself on the present.

"We all know what's the plan," Lydia called out, seeing legions of bodies straighten up in firm tension. "No horses. Arrows first. Only do things after my signal."

A wave of nods.

"Good," she encouraged. "May Talos be with us."

Lydia stalked forward, just beginning a brief trek up a hill.

She pulled out her map, checking every few seconds behind her to make sure that all of the group was following her. According to that dirty piece of scrolled paper, they were very close to Pelagia farms, having already moved past the Inn and what remained of the river. The hill was rapidly drawing to a close, and Lydia gently fluttered a hand behind her to signal for a stop, then peeked her head slowly above the apex of the hill.

Blades of grass danced in her vision. Then, just visible underneath the fading moonlight soon (probably within a few hours) to be replaced by exposing sunlight – five cloaked Khajiit. They appeared to be scouts posted farther away from the heart of the city – and they were huddled around a large white tent, large enough for at least fifty men to be housed inside.

Lydia bit her lip in anxiety. This was both good and bad – if everything turned out well, they could eliminate fifty Khajiit in one blow without alerting the others – this also meant that many more Khajiit were in disconnected groups, and likely Whiterun itself had less cannibals. The bad news would be the risk – killing fifty of them (even unsuspectingly) was formidable, and Lydia seriously doubted they could eliminate all without making a sound.

She spied through more blades of moving grass. There appeared to be no more Khajiit around them, and she heavily suspected that the vast majority were posted on the other side of the Hold – after all, that was closer to Dragonsreach – and much more likely where Balgruuf was being held.

She turned back and slid down somewhat, holding up five fingers and waited for the group's response.

Seconds of silence. Then two of Tullius' Imperial soldiers moved forward, bows at the ready. Lydia nodded at them.

She stalked up silently, feeling the two soldiers creep up the hill slowly next to her sides. She gently focused her energy, bringing up a wave of electricity between her palms. She narrowed her gaze, aiming at the middle three while Tullius' men loaded arrows against the other two.

A second of pause.

She relaxed her body.

The distinctive sound of string thrusting against wood. A surge of electricity.

Gasping and groaning, but mostly silent struggling. Five bodies fell to the ground.

"Victory!" one of Tullius' archers uttered to Lydia. "Dragonborn, we will surely – "

"Shut up," Lydia quickly forced. "Keep your voices down."

She repeated this to the group behind her, then moved slowly up the hill. The five Khajiit did not react to their movements, their bodies laying crumpled and motionless on the grass floor. Lydia immediately moved closer to the large white tent, noticing a lack of light coming from within. Transparent as the fabric was, Lydia noted the amout of bodies sleeping peacefully inside – approximately twenty men.

"Better than fifty," she muttered to herself. "You lot – this has to be quick. Mages with wide spells first. Yolin Brothers, not you three yet – too noisy."

The triplet appeared disappointed, but made way for Tulso and the Redguard woman to flank Lydia, and she motioned for a few more from the Riften guard to join her. Lydia moved closer to the entrance of the tent, surprised by Tullius' random appearance.

"We need to be stealthy about this," she whispered, voice incredibly low. "Tullius – how long has it been?"

"A few years, I admit," the general commended. "Still good with the bow though."

"Be quiet about it," Lydia urged, gently pushing the flap open. "All I ask. And you two mages – shock magic only. Fire's too flashy. Focused beams – none of that rune garbage."

Tulso and the Redguard mage nodded briefly. Lydia peeked her head through the tent flaps.

Shock. Anger. Realization.

There were no Khajiit residing in the tent. They were all fully dressed men in bedrolls, clad in shining dark armor with a specialized logo on the inside, insignia too distinctive to mistake for anything else.

Stormcloaks.

And in the center – that equally distinctive face, chiseled goatee and aged eyes resting peacefully in sleep.

"U – Ulfric?" a voice came from behind her, old head peeking through behind Lydia. "How in the – how in the world..."

That aged face stirred, eyes opening sharply to blink at Lydia. Ulfric was speechless for a moment, mouth agape. Then his face aggravated itself to anger.

 _No_ , she thought, anxiety flooding. _No. Not now. He'll draw the attention of everyone!_

Lydia acted quickly.

Moving as fast as possible, she ripped the bedroll off him before pulling him to her side, extending a dagger to his neck. She forced him onto his knees, keeping the dagger at his exposed neck. An ensuing flurry of chatter as the Stormcloak men – now awake and yelling insults at the Imperial heads peeking their heads through – threatened to lose control.

"Silence!" Lydia roared, trying to keep her voice as quiet as possible despite the urgency. "Make any more noise – and I cut your leader's head off."

"Ulfric – you bastard..." Tullius' reprehensible voice came through from behind Lydia, holding Ulfric's torso desperately.

"I believed you dead," Ulfric's measured words came out. "And yet here you are – reincarnated and serving the Imperial cause... sold you soul to the Empire eh, Dohvakiin?"

Lydia felt this was so stupid a statement that she felt like killing Ulfric immediately.

"It was Maven, wasn't it?" Ulfric mentioned, trying to calm his men down as they advanced dangerously on Lydia, blade still pressing threateningly into Ulfric's skin. "Hag's smart, I'll give her that..."

"This has nothing to do with Stormcloaks or the Empire Ulfric," Lydia chanted. "We didn't even know you were here!"

"Then why hold this stupid dagger to my neck then, hmm?" Ulfric groaned, shaking against Lydia's grip. "Obviously you're capturing me for the Empire – although I have no idea how you found me..."

"Bloody fool," Tullius remarked from behind her, ignoring shouts from the Stormcloak soldiers. "Like she said, we didn't even know you were here... although cooperating with cannibals? That's low, even for scum like you..."

"We're here to liberate Whiterun you idiot," Lydia spat, pushing the dagger in deeper. "This is a precaution – to make sure your men don't screw up our plans and bring the rest of those monsters down on us."

"So we're at a stalemate then?" Ulfric continued. "Kill me and my men will make a fuss – but let me go, and they will still make a fuss..."

Lydia swallowed. She hadn't expected this. Her blood was boiling. She couldn't remain here for long.

"Leave me and my men alone with these bastards," Tullius urged behind Lydia. "We'll guard them until you arrive back – victorious that is."

"Nonsense," Lydia whispered back, pressing the dagger deeper every time Ulfric's men started getting too noisy with their insults. "We need everyone. We only have fifty or so men as it is..."

"But we let these scum bring even the slightest attention, and then everyone dies," Tullius reminded her. "Dragonborn – we have no choice. Some of us must stay back..."

Lydia moved back slightly, drawing more ire from Ulfric's protesting men before glancing back at her own group.

Twenty or so men forced out of action for guarding Ulfric, making sure no noise was emitted. That would leave just thirty or so warriors to seige the city itself, almost halving their forces.

"You have no other choice Lydia," Tullius enforced, using her name to drive his point. "Either we keep these fools quiet, or be prepared for the onslaught right now – before you and your mages have a chance to kill any large number of them."

Lydia shuddered, feeling Ulfric smugly laugh and squirm.

"Listen moron," Lydia emphasized, turning around Ulfric to protests, keeping the blade on his neck. "There's only one way you and your men end up alive in this scenario."

Ulfric smiled, staring at Lydia with a fierce hatred. "And what's that?"

"Wait until the rest of our group finishes off the cannibals surrounding the city," she declared. "Then we let you go. You get far away from Whiterun. You live to continue your war against Tullius."

"Bullshit," Tullius roared. "I'll kill him myself, right now!"

"You – will – do – no – such thing!" she roared back, silencing the old general. "Do you want his men to kick up a storm, bring down the thousands of cannibals against us?"

Tullius shook his head in exasperation. "But – "

"Shut it," Lydia forced. "Ulfric – your move. Stay quiet and peaceful against Tullius' men, then leave as soon as they tell you to."

"Or else what?" Tullius demanded, uplifted by his men's cries of laughter. "What if, as soon as you go away – I decide to struggle against whoever you've got holding a knife to my neck?"

"Then – " Lydia spoke dangerously. "No matter what happens at Whiterun, no matter what happens here – I'll come back for you. Slaughter you. Slaughter whatever remains of your men. I'll crush the Stormcloak cause – soldier after soldier. I'll hunt you all down, and butcher the whole lot of you."

This brought a wave of silence. Ulfric kept quiet for a few seconds, then spoke up.

"Is that so?" he attempted. "That's assuming you even make it back from your little siege of Whiterun – alive."

Lydia let out a cruel laugh.

" _I'm_ the _fucking_ Dragonborn," she growled, staring Ulfric hard in the eyes. "Take your chances."

Ulfric seemed to be weighing his options, anger then withdrawal, then finally grudging acceptance came through as he waved his hands behind him, earning groans of disapproval from the Stormcloak soldiers.

Lydia shoved Ulfric towards Tullius' inviting grasp, the old General immediately bringing a knife against the Jarl's neck.

"Stay here with your twenty men until you get a signal from me," Lydia advised. "Then we siege the city together – and if this fool tries to betray you in any way..."

She flashed a glare at Ulfric, who snorted in refusal.

Lydia shook her head then moved out of the tent, allowing the Imperial soldiers waiting anxiously outside to pour inside the tent, flanking Tullius. She sighed resolutely.

"What's happening?" Tulso gruffly asked, disturbed by a bulk of the group choosing to remain behind. "Some issue with the Imperials?"

"Just a temporary setback," Lydia soothed. "The rest of you – follow my lead."

She continued her trek forward, eyeing the glittering city of Whiterun. As she moved closer and closer to the city itself, traversing down that long stone trail – Lydia noticed that there didn't appear to be any other Khajiit guarding outside Whiterun. She was sufficiently close enough to the entrance of the city to see a few guards, not more than two or three at the gates – but she wondered how many were still inside the Hold. There were two situations that could be true – either the estimates of "thousands of men" were innaccurate – which was highly unlikely... or worse and more plausibly, most of the cannibals were tightly focused in the city, making this a particularly dangerous skirmish to start.

"This might be trickier than I thought," she verbalized, urgency detectable in her voice. "Riften guard, begin burying yourselves now – we're close to the gates. As soon as you hear what sounds like footsteps above you, break out and begin archery fire into whatever that moves... save your swords for only when they get close."

Thirty-five heads nodded in approval, beginning to tear away at grass and dirt beneath them before climbing into these self-made pits.

"Yolin brothers," Lydia began, "Two of you remain buried while one will run back to Tullius' men at the tent – when you hear fighting, tell them to let Ulfric go and start coming for us."

The brothers appeared disheartened to be separated, but nevertheless followed the directions as one of them creeped off into the darkness.

"Tulso and the Redguard – stay close," she advised, moving closer to the city gates.

"You appear to be changing the plan a bit Dragonborn," Tulso asked, moving alongside Lydia as the three ducked underneath a large rock situated just close to the Whiterun Stables. "Mind telling us what's happening?"

No response.

"Dragonborn?"

Still no response.

"Dohvakiin?"

"Hmmm? Oh, right, sorry – just got lost in a memory..."

Lydia turned her gaze away from the Stables, eyeing Tulso with an informing stare. "We three are going to kill off as many cannibals as we can – and distract them too. Keep their backs turned to the buried Riften guards, who will pop out and begin shooting..."

"I see..." Tulso noted. "How?"

"Thirty-five men all with bows," Lydia noted. "They can kill off a good hundred or so before the rest of the cannibals even have the time to react – but only if we drag them outside the city and past the places where the guards are buried – so when the enemies' backs are turned, the guards can begin firing away... and hopefully, Tullius' men can make surprise kills as well."

"Agreed," the Redguard concurred.

Lydia trekked closer to the Gates, diving closer to the chained-bridge, glancing at two Khajiit laughing at the city Gates – still thankfully closed. She prepared a small ball of electricity once again, then fired hard in their direction.

Two more bodies hit the ground, grass disturbed in the early hours before dawn.

"A lot of them are sleeping so we can slip by easily," Lydia noted to the other two. "But I repeat – I don't know how capable these cannibals are of magic. We can't risk them seeing anyone cast a spell – they might be able to counter it."

"Good thinking," the Redguard complimented. "You'd make a great war general, Dohvakiin – this whole, 'attack in stages' plan. Really quite brilliant..."

Lydia shrugged this off, sprinting to the front of the gates. She pressed her ears to the Gates, trying to discern the amount of noise coming from within the Hold.

It was sizeable. A lot of it appeared to be chattering, meaning that many cannibals were awake... (she groaned) but also that everyone had still not noticed anything wrong in their numbers.

Lydia motioned for the mages to follow, hastily climbing a nearby cylindrical wall.

After a short few seconds scaling the bricks, Lydia cast an invisibility Shout before she perched herself on the peak of the wall, peering down at the eternally hidden city at long last.

Horror. Confusion. Anger.

The reports weren't incorrect. There were _thousands_ of them. _Two_ thousand at the least, to be pessimistic.

A few were sleeping. Most were breathing. Laughing. _Eating._

 _Feasting._

None of Whiterun's shops nor places of interest were discernable in the chaos. There were far too many people clustered into the Hold, with some areas of light being simple lanterns hung from tall wooden posts above – and in the center of such large groups of Khajiit were bonfires, with smoke billowing as far up as Lydia could see... and flesh of all kinds laying partially decayed, partially destroyed nearby.

The flesh of men and women.

Tender flesh of young ones.

Broken and mangled pieces of flesh. Entire bodies split into two, hanging from large wooden poles suspended above the fire. The cannibals jeered around these, ripping a few chunks off every few seconds before bringing them into either their baskets or mouths. They were all _celebrating_.

Lydia gasped.

Not everyone in Whiterun were Khajiit. A good number, an incredibly tangible number – hundreds perhaps – were Whiterun citizens, shackled and chained to posts nearby the bonfires. Some were begging for their lives or the lives of their children, while some were being eaten and screaming in pain. A good number of them had the Whiterun guard uniform laying torn and splattered with blood on their bodies, while others appeared to be simple farmers and inn workers. All were prisoners – but they were resiliently struggling to stay alive.

"Freaks," Tulso breathed, having reached the top beside Lydia.

"These scum need to be put down," the Redguard woman whispered, having also reached the top.

"You two, go as far away from me as possible, but stick to the wall edges and near big groups of Khajiit," Lydia breathed. "When I start my spell, you all start with me. Kill as many of these scumbags as possible – avoid the prisoners. Keep them all facing one way and retreat when they begin fighting back – so that our guard friends can pop out and begin their assault."

The two figures nodded next to her, before quietly moving alongside the edges of the wall.

Lydia stopped the Redguard woman, clasping her garment. "Redguard – it's been an honor. I just – wanted to say that."

The woman nodded slowly, grasping Lydia's hand back before moving away. Lydia wondered how long it would be before she would be dead.

She turned back to the cannibal group, a couple hundred immediately in front of her, still not noticing her due to the the Shout she had cast earlier.

Lydia focused all her energy, feeling her hands tremble. The aura of invisibility wore off due to the concentration.

Massive flickers in her palm. An enormous energy flooding her senses. Lydia waved her hands in cylic motion, feeling anger she had never felt before.

She channeled it. Harnessed all the rage – righteous rage. She felt raw hatred form into her palms, and blue fire materialize – it was a spell she had seldom used, and she doubted how conscious she would be after using it. She just had to trust her group.

A few Khajiit had spotted her. They begun shouting about "fishies".

But it was too late. She had begun it all.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Interesting note... I actually finished writing the whole Whiterun Battle chapter, and realized it was 6000+ words... so I chopped into two chapters! (Hence why you all get two chapters in one day! + thought it was a nice way to end the 40th chapter with the whiterun battle arc...)_

 _I thought it would be silly to finish off everything in one chapter, so let me know if you'd like it this way or want the next chapter to be merged into this one – don't worry, nothing story-wise would be changed. Just felt it was appropriate..._

 _As always, I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	40. The Things Bards Sing About (III)

**The Things Bards Sing About (III)**

* * *

Massive infernos. Blue and fierce. Waves of pain crashing through her hands. But righteous fulfillment all the same.

Lydia couldn't see anything in front of her, but heard two simultaneous spells go off in front of her. Massive flames, spiraling all the way to absorb the tiny bonfires. Lydia struggled desperately to control the inferno, keeping it away from captured citizens as they immediately realized what was happening.

Shouting. More yelling. Shackles broke loose and cheering ensued – following by swinging of swords.

Lydia coughed out blood harshly, feeling her arms give out before they swung limply to her sides. She blinked back tears – the pain was so intense. She hadn't expected for the spell to have done so much damage – she could barely stand upright.

Lydia peeked in front of her, standing awkwardly at the edge of the wall. Massive legions of charred bodies – there was a recognizable dent in their numbers – but many were still alive, struggling with their captured citizens who began breaking free and resisting. At least seven hundred to a thousand Khajiit were still standing.

A jolt of pain. Lydia felt her shoulder crumple as an arrow pierced through the tired flesh, forcing her back as she fell through the air and felt weightless for a few moments – then hit the ground hard.

"Get up," she told herself immediately, knowing how dangerous of a position this was. "Get up, get up, get up..."

More spells. Shouting and roars of pain. The gates were thrust open and legions of Khajiit flooded through, and Lydia felt a boot roughly connect with her face as her jaw was nearly dislocated by the force of the blow, her entire torso stumbling backwards.

 _No_ , she forced against her own body's willingness to succumb. _Fight. Now._

Knowing her arm would be practically destroyed by the movement, she withdrew the massive warhammer on her back, and swung as hard as she could into the ground.

A wave of energy. Several waves of Khajiit fell back.

Unexpected fire. Arrows came from behind her.

Lydia turned back, irritated by the legions of guards that had appeared, dirt still on their armor.

"Can't follow simple directions..." she whisperd to herself, swinging the warhammer against before pushing past the crowd of Khajiit, hordes of bodies flattening with the hammer's blows.

She shoved past the gates once more, seeing an ongoing battle of chaos and order.

Swords swinging. Men screaming. Blood splattering everywhere. Dust was being kicked up in such great quantities that it made many of the combatants cough out. And in this ridiculously low moonlight, Lydia couldn't even tell who was who. She hoped the mages were all right. The guards behind her shoved past, thrusting themselves into the center of the city.

She swung the warhammer again, connecting with as many Khajiit as possible. She noticed how most fought without weapons, almost animalistically – many clawed at her back, tried to tear through her armor.

Many of the prisoners had gotten their hands on swords. Many were being killed by anxious Khajiit, eager to suppress any further opposition.

She kept swinging the hammer, feeling heads casually be disconnected from their bodies by the force of her blows.

A pair of hands – strong but gentle – grasped at her shoulders. Lydia immediately turned around, bringing her hammer up.

"Dragonborn!"

She stopped just short of a swing, seeing the Whiterun guard uniform laying tattered across the man's chest.

"You must save Balgruuf first!" the guard exclaimed, swinging a sword behind him to take a Khajiit's leg off. "Save the Jarl! Please!"

Lydia had forgotten about this. Although she was never one to stray away from a fight, and never one to abandon her group – saving Balgruuf also meant political ties would be kept, and no other Holds would get unnecessarily involved – his life was more important in this situation, in other words.

She looked back at the chaos. Both mages were still alive and well, casting fierce spells against the tumultous wave of Khajiit, and many of the guards who were formerly prisoners were successfully retaliating against their captors. Most of the Riften guard were still alive and kicking, and she felt an underwhelming hope take a hold of her.

 _We may just pull this off..._

Lydia brutally smashed a few Khajiit back, then caught a glimpse of a straggler lying in a doorway of Warmaiden's Armory. She sprinted to him, nearly choking him to death.

"Where's Balgruuf?!" she yelled, crushing his throat. "Where!?"

"The pretty, tall fishy?" the Khajiit let out in suffocated words. "Or the ugly, old fishy..."

Lydia spat on the Khajiit's face. "THE UGLY OLD ONE!"

She kicked an attacking Khajiit behind her, quickly turning back to the Khajiit in her grasp.

"He escaped, woo hoo... I think he died probably, woo hoo..." the Khajiit smiled, voice becoming hoarse.

Lydia grew angry, smashing the Khajiit against the floor. "FINE! THE PRETTY ONE! WHERE IS BALGRUUF YOU SCUM!?"

"The pretty one is right here, in the cellar..." the Khajiit slurred. "What a fine fishy Bal – "

Lydia forced the Khajiit away from her, bringing down the warhammer cruelly on the chest to hear a satisfying 'crack' as the ribs gave way and the Khajiit ceased moving.

She jumped over the body, shoving the door shut behind her as she frantically searched around her.

"Balgruuf?!" she screamed, looking desperately around. The shop itself appeared dilapidated, and most of the possesssions appeared destroyed or taken away.

Lydia ran behind the wooden counter, seeing a heavy cellar door. She whipped it open, jumping down with confidence and anxiety.

"BALGRUUF!"

Nothing.

Lydia looked around. The cellar itself appeared to lead down via a declined slope, and was covered with mud. She sprinted down the slippery terrain, heart thudding in her chest.

 _He has to be alive, he just has to be..._

She had to believe it. She had known him for so many years...

"BALGRUUF!"

A flicker of light. Lydia saw a source of light be emitted, aware that she was very deep within the ground. It appeared to be coming from a lantern, and it was radiating from a small crack in the cave, just wide enough to let one person at a time through...

But what she heard was even worse.

 _Giggling. Laughing._ Tearing...

Lydia struggled to keep her composure. She didn't even bother squeezing through the entryway, preferring to smash through with her warhammer as the weak rock crumbled at her fingertips.

She felt powerful. It felt right. She knew he had to be alive. All of this couldn't be for nothing.

Lydia tore through the cramped space, satisfied to see a band of twenty or so Khajiit stop all their movements for a while – around a small, shivering figure in the center.

Lydia was thrown off for a moment, stopping in her tracks to simply stare.

The Khajiit were smiling – but they were smiling in the sense as if they had been interrupted doing something they enjoyed.

Lydia noticed that many of them were not wearing pants, and a few were completely nude. This comprised the circle of Khajiit in the center surrounding the small, huddled figure – and about half of them were standing around the group in the center. Both circles of Khajiit continued to stare at Lydia.

She was – surprised by their positions relative to the figure in the center. One Khajiit had the figure's legs pinned against his shoulders, thrusting – _into_ the figure, while others were pinning the figure's arms and inserting their own – _things –_ into different areas in the figure's body.

Lydia's mouth was open reactively. She observed that the figure was young and male, and initially unrecognizable by face. It was almost – _almost_ distantly, but vaguely discernable in the dim light.

She had seen that dark, messy hair before. Pretty features on a well-proportioned face.

But the skin was too mangled, the complexion was too dirtied, and overall appearance was too sullied to be...

"Dragonborn!" the thursting Khajiit began, suddenly stopping his thrusts. "Glad you're here! Want to purchase some fish? Not this fish though... this is my lovely wife!"

The Khajiit – _exited_ the huddled figure, and motioned for the rest of the Khajiit to remove their body parts from contact with the figure. Lydia kept staring at the young male, whose entire body was nude and exposed to her. Yet the – _boy –_ as far as Lydia could tell, didn't appear to feel any shame.

She wasn't sure why she wasn't doing anything. It felt – it felt too awkward being here, and her eyes were sending an image to her mind that she'd rather not acknowledge for it's truthfulness.

She couldn't imagine them doing that. Not even _them_. The boy was too young, the crime was too despicable...

And yet there he was, body having all the signs that exactly what Lydia was thinking had could not have possibly happened – _did_ happen.

He simply stared at Lydia, mouth slowly stretching to a grin, small trail of blood creeping from outside his mouth. His eyes were watering, but Lydia couldn't process why.

"Say something my dear!" the Khajiit roared, swinging his open palm into the boy's already scarred face, opening a fresh cut underneath the boy's eye.

The boy stopped smiling. His chest heaved slowly, voice coming out in hoarse whispers barely audible to her.

"H – H – Hi L – L – Lydia."

She felt her throat catch itself, and swelling immediately formed at her eyes.

It couldn't be anyone else. No one else used her name like that.

The Khajiit smiled jovially at her, standing up before walking closer to her.

"So, what fish would you like to purchase?"

Lydia felt the concern over Balgruuf's lack of an appearance leave her. She tuned out the sounds of warfare and bodies hitting the ground above her. Now she could relish this alone, without the rest of the world distracting her.

She took the pleasure of staring into that furry face, smiling back at the Khajiit.

And she swung the hammer.

A crack. The other Khajiit roared in protest as she brought the hammer down a second time, lavishing as the blood spattered and the hammer went straight through the Khajiit's head. Lydia was only vaguely aware as the other nineteen came rushing at her, claws out and some half-nude.

She swung first at their crotches, choosing to hurt them sufficiently so she could see the pain in their eyes before swinging it again. The gifted warhammer had proven resilient without fail, connecting with every single face, again and again...

And the nothing. Lydia verbalized disgust as blood pooled at her feet, but smiled even wider as she noticed twenty Khajiit bodies laying crumpled on the rock floor.

The lantern in the center kept burning. Lydia noticed how there wasn't a figure next to it anymore.

A sudden movement.

Her first instinct was to think that a straggler had managed to punch her in the chest – but she couldn't be more wrong.

An enormous warmth. It was persistent and strong, but consistently shaky and disoriented. Lydia turned her head downwards and saw exactly what she expected to see.

A messy bushel of dark hair. His arms weren't wrapped around her – they were at at his sides. They appeared hurt in ways she couldn't quite fathom yet.

"Cover me."

It was a very quiet request, and if she wasn't listening so hard to every sound his body made, she might have almost missed it. Lydia's eyes turned to a small bundle of clothes lying untarnished in the corner of the cave, grabbing it without moving.

She didn't even put it over him, simply doing as he commanded – literally covering all the broken, torn, bruised stretches of skin that she didn't want to see.

The weight of their two bodies pressed together brought her down to the floor, and her arms – previously tired and unable to move – effortlessly swung to his sides, grasping reluctantly. She didn't want to hurt him in any way, but felt an overpowering need to squeeze as hard as she could.

Many previous times when something like this had happened, his body was visibly shaking underneath her grip – but no such thing was occurring this time. His frame – slightly smaller and lighter than hers – was perfectly still, and fitted to the grooves and curves of her own flesh, resting against her. It wasn't a peaceful sleep, nor was it an anxious rest – but it was something different, a distant, fatigued sort of hollowness that Lydia had never quite seen before.

Her fingers searched his body for any signs of warmth, but all she could find were cold spots and bruises, torn skin laid over impaired muscle, attached to a weakened skeleton. No part of him was functioning properly, and none of it seemed to be anything like the boy she knew several weeks ago. There was a great – foreigness in his touch, as if his captors had taken his soul and skin and had replaced it with this hollow, lifeless carcass of mechanical flesh.

It didn't feel right to her.

One part was clearly recognizable, and it perhaps was the part that identified him to her when she saw him laying in the cave floor, huddled and exposed.

He brought his eyes up reluctantly, staring briefly into her. She had never noticed it before – but they were the same color as her own. They were far younger, distinctly softer in nature – less harsh, less imposing by default. However, Lydia noticed that even after all this time, despite the rest of him being twisted, scarred, and morphed beyond repair and recognizability – those dark browns were assuredly still his.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Hope the ending didn't come across as corny :)_

 _And still, 10ish chapters to go! Yep... still plenty of stuff for the story to get through... And I think we can assume with the grand reunion, there will be more of the good-old-fashioned moments that we're all so used to..._

 _As always, I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_

 _P.S: Is recognizability a word? Probably not... oh well._


	41. A Ballad of Blankets

**A Ballad of Blankets**

* * *

A great deal of events had occurred unbeknownst to Lydia, despite the latter making every attempt to catch up.

Time had recently been passing rather quickly, and perhaps in an unimportant fashion as she thought it always did. Lydia was, of course, extremely pleased to see the amount of men who had survived – approximately twenty Riften guards were still alive, and they were forced to carry their fifteen dead brethren into weary caskets. Most of the men appeared shaken significantly by the cannibals' attacks, and a few were injured almost to death – but still alive.

Whiterun was recognizable once more. It had been only half a day since the Hold was liberated, and already the surviving citizens had begun talks with the freed Whiterun guard, attempting to re-establish control of the city. Most of the cannibals had been slaughtered right within the city, but a few stray bands had managed to escape – and Lydia had fiercely ordered everyone to stay behind, not wanting to risk losing any more men.

Or women.

She had discovered the Redguard woman's body – perhaps just at daybreak in poetic fashion – just as she was surveying the amount of damage done to the Hold, long after all the fighting was done. The body seemed peaceful, vast gashes and injuries betraying a small smile and a relaxed look on the Redguard woman's eyes. Lydia had gently brought her eyelids down, then moved away from the corpse. That had occurred several hours ago.

She wondered what they would do with her body.

Lydia smiled, standing atop that distinctive tree stump just outside Riverwood, just barely able to see the massive Hold slowly heal in the farthest reaches of her vision. From the distance, she saw the massive grey banners fall to the grass as helpers removed them from atop the Hold's walls, and the great bonfires ever-present in the city be extinguished. She was just able to see Tulso and the Yolin brothers, shaken but alive – standing just on the edges of the walls.

Multiple people had begged her to stay back, but Lydia had elected to move away from the city for a brief time, confident that her role in the reconstruction was over. It wasn't that she didn't want to help rebuild the city – it was simply that the true source of her worries was laying safe and warm, far away from that slowly recovering city – and he was currently inside a secluded room in Riverwood's only Inn, thick blanket sheltering every injury and covering every inch of skin in modesty.

She had clothed him before they even walked out of that cellar back in Whiterun. She owed him at least that.

"How did it all end?"

Lydia turned back, grinning widely as yet another surprise came in. He was the only man approaching her in this dense forest, beams of sunlight just flying through the gigantic branches. The man had a thick, scraggly white beard flying off his face – clearly un-maintained – with a slew of injuries spanning across his exposed patches of skin. He was clothed however, and had a sense of regal nature about him – but Lydia had never respected this.

"Balgruuf," Lydia slurred, voice quiet with glee. "You should rest."

"So should you," Balgruuf retaliated. "Now tell me – how did it all end? When you found me in Dragonsreach, you told me Whiterun was free..."

"Yes, I saved you after all the fighting was done," Lydia affirmed, winking slightly. "Didn't want to trouble you with battle, old man."

It was a poor joke and Balgruuf gave a sympathetic chuckle, but he nevertheless stood next to the tree stump, motioning for Lydia to jump down.

Leaping quietly onto the grass, she sat down on the tree stump, scratching at her head with exasperation.

"It took about fifteen minutes for us to kill off most of them," Lydia continued, watching Balgruuf's eyes light up in enthusiasm. "I – didn't expect the vigorous response from your freed city Guards."

"And you keep saying all guards are idiots," Balgruuf announced with a chuckle. "Then after all the fighting, then what?"

"Interrogated a few of them, figured out where you were being held," Lydia simply stated. "Ran to Dragonsreach's cellar – got you out, obviously."

"I see," Balgruuf commended. "And Lydia – I understood what happened to Tullius and Ulfric. My apologies."

Lydia snorted. Perhaps she should have expected it, but as soon as most of the fighting was over she had taken a trip down to the tent by Pelagia Farms – and was horrified by the encounter. Bodies were lying everywhere, a mixture of Stormcloak and Imperial – and both Tullius and Ulfric were absent from the scene. She doubted they had even participated in the battle for Whiterun.

"They obviously didn't fight in Whiterun," Balgruuf guessed. "Any ideas where they might be?"

A flux of theories shot to her head. "Idiots – both of them. Personally, I hope they're both dead. Can't put aside a vendetta for a common goal..."

"So where do you think Tullius and Ulfric went?"

"Who cares? Dead, chasing each other, fighting for all eternity... I couldn't give less of a shit."

Balgruuf relaxed, then turned back to her.

"Were you surprised by it at the time?" he mentioned, chuckling again. "Or – did you have – _other_ things on your mind?"

She immediately understood what he was referring to.

"While they were torturing me, they told me a lot about _him_ ," Balgruuf slowly let out. "About your relationship with him. Lydia – I'm so sorry."

She blinked twice, trying to remove that familiar sense of swelling building at her eyes.

"He – he was _shaking_ so much," Lydia described, remembering the feeling of carrying him back to the Inn. "Didn't say a word to me as I got him here – put a blanket over him and stuffed him into the local Inn..."

"Good idea, getting him away from Whiterun," Balgruuf quietly agreed. "Riverwood's quiet. Not many of your group will come here – it's a good place for him to heal."

"I don't know if they'll be my new group just yet," Lydia tried, hoping to change the subject. "I haven't had much experience working together – but this battle proved that they could..."

She stopped, seeing Balgruuf's discerning glare pierce right through her bravado. She sighed and moved her gaze to the ground.

"I know you don't want to hear this," Balgruuf tried, voice quiet in reluctant persistence. "But you have to take a look at him."

She snarled. "Balgruuf, we've talked about this..."

"And you haven't listened!" he cut her off, moving closer to her defiant posture, bringing his voice down. "Lydia – we all know the kinds of diseases that he could get when undergoing – such an experience. You've got to – "

"He doesn't have any diseases!" she spat, tears welling at her eyes. "He's just – hurt!"

"You and I both know that's a lie," Balgruuf silently withdrew. "You have to look over him. Make sure he's actually all right."

She sniffled, covering her face within her palms. "What – what do I do... just walk in and say, 'hey Brom, mind taking your clothes off for me?'... by Talos Balgruuf, give him some distance..."

"That's the _worst_ thing you could do right now," Balgruuf urged. "Give him _distance_. That's precisely what could hurt him more."

"And you suddenly know everything about him, hmm?" she hissed. "Been with him for more than a year, hmm?"

Balgruuf sighed. "You know I'm right. You have to – "

"I'm going to stick around just long enough until he recovers," Lydia cut him off. "Then I'm gone. I'm never going to come near him again."

Balgruuf seemed taken aback. "Lydia – I thought you lov – "

"I DO!" immediately the answer came, but she restrained herself later. "Of course I do. But – everything that's happened to him..."

Balgruuf understood where this was going. "Listen to me – this has nothing to do with you."

Lydia let out a cocky chuckle, grasping Balgruuf by the shoulders. "It has _everything_ to do with me. _I'm_ the reason he even was captured to begin with... how foolish of me, to think I deserve things like 'love' and 'affection' and 'intimacy'..."

She felt anger surge up once more. "That's all for commoners, right?! And I'm the Dragonborn, right?! I don't get to have all these feelings, RIGHT?!"

In her frustration she swung her first into the stump, feeling the thick wood crack underneath her knuckles and splinter underneath the skin.

"Damn it..."

She groaned, grasping her hand in pain.

"Do we know who did all of this?" Balgruuf gently prodded, changing the conversatiom. "Who let my city fall? Who began all this? Who got Ulfric Stormcloack in the middle of a damn camp near Whiterun..."

This was too much information for her to process. Lydia decided to spend her time elsewhere.

"I'll deal with it later," she urged, then stared at Balgruuf in the eyes. "I'm going to go see him. You should get back to your city, and find out as much information as you can – I'll come back later."

Balgruuf appeared disappointed to end the conversation so quickly, but nodded resolutely all the same, trodding down the trail leading to Whiterun. He casually waved a hand back.

"Thank you for giving my city back, Dragonborn!"

It was a sarcastic usage of the term, because he knew how much she hated it – and it earned a chuckle. Lydia smiled again before glancing back at the sleepy little town, noticing that the sun was just above her – it was noon.

She hoped he was asleep.

 **. . .**

 _Thrusting._

He woke up, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

 _Moaning._

He sprang up, another cold sweat present across his chest.

 _Giggling._

Brom abruptly moved up, gasping for breath. He looked around.

He wasn't in the cellar anymore. His body had every scar and injury that he had grown accustomed to having in the past few weeks – but the environment was different.

He was laying atop a comfortable bed, with big and wooden walls flanking every side of him. The room appeared to be very much secluded from the rest of the outside, with a single door leading into the room. He couldn't hear anything outside, and an empty cabinet with a couple of chairs were dispersed to his right side. He sighed in relief to note the absence of a lantern.

A wool blanket, warm and heavy with use, was laid across his strangely clothed body. His limbs and torso weren't aching anymore, and the mixture of fluids that had long since dried against his skin were absent – he felt naked without all them, almost as if he had stepped into a very deep, long bath that had rinsed everything off him.

Brom observed the blanket edges more closely. It was tucked underneath his torso, and patted down firmly to make sure there was no chance it could slip off him. The pillow underneath his head was also incredibly soft, almost as if had previously been roughed up to make it more appealing to lie down on.

The care put into all of it was incredible – tender and affectionate, but also guarded and careful – the same way one would deal with a broken cup, or fractured shard of metal.

A creak at the door.

"Who is it?" came Brom's nervous question.

"It's just me," a female voice rang out, almost too soft to hear. "Do – is it okay if I stay here for a – a while?"

He couldn't think of a more stupid question. "Yes. Stay."

Brom forced a smile, seeing Lydia's tall frame loom in the doorway for a while, then with his permission and further head nod – she moved closer inside the room, shutting and locking the door behind her. She ignored the clearly available chair next to his bedside, instead opting to lightly push his body to the side to make room on the bed. She sat down on it gently, laying an arm across the blanketed body.

"I'm fine," Brom lied, earning an immediate look of disapproval from her. "Really. I – I'm fine. It'll take some time for everything to heal obviously, but..."

"I'm not worried about that."

He stopped talking.

"The injuries can be fixed with a simple healing spell," Lydia reiterated. "I – want to know how _you_ are."

Brom tried to lie again. "Good."

She frowned, upsetting him. Brom tried another approach. "Fine. Bad. What do you want me to say?"

She moved her gaze to the ground in shame, unconsciously moving her arm across his body in rhythmic motion.

"Whatever you want to say is fine with me," Lydia quietly demanded.

He opted for silence. He knew he was hurting her even more by not saying anything, but Brom wasn't sure exactly how to put his feelings into words...

Emptiness?

Coldness?

Feelings of violation?

No – that had all been felt long ago. It was different this time, a new kind of feeling that accompanied trauma – an unusual sense of attachment. Brom found himself wishing she would come closer.

"I'm not going to talk about it," he offered simply, disappointing her. "I – I don't think I'm ever going to remotely say anything about it. You – you know everything. I mean – you saw me..."

And then it hit him.

It was embarrassment. He felt embarrassed.

He felt embarrassed over how she had seen him.

Naked.

Afraid.

Crying.

She knew how weak he was now. She would never look at him the same way again. He had lost all sense of masculinity long ago, but this was doubly effusive – Brom almost pictured her holding him with disgust, seeing him for how feminine, pulverized, and mangled he truly was...

A disgusting creature.

"Please tell me what you're thinking," Lydia urged, wiping an unexpected tear forming at his eyes. "Please."

"I'm sorry," Brom humbly mentioned.

Lydia opened her eyes in shock. " _You're_ sorry? For – for what?"

"The Skooma," Brom recalled, realizing that this had nothing to do with anything. "I – everything I did back then, I just felt – I don't know, free. I just felt like I could have a new life if I just – "

"I don't care," Lydia forced back, bending down so that her face was inches away from his. "I don't care."

She brought another hand to his cheek, finger tracing the edges of a fresh cut the Khajiit had made when he had "introduced" Brom to Lydia.

"How can you still touch me like this?" Brom let out, unable to contain himself. "I – I – _I_ wouldn't touch myself when I'm like this..."

Lydia closed her eyes. "That – that sounded wrong, Brom."

A second of pause. Then realization. Ensuing chuckles.

"Move over," she quietly begged, pushing his covered frame more onto one side of the bed, now fully lying down next to him. "Let me see you better."

Brom turned over to face her fully, seeing her frame bend slightly to inch closer to him. He suppressed an overwhelming need to shove into her, bury himself underneath her neck and just drift off into sleep.

Yet she didn't leave him a choice. Lydia gently tugged at the corners of his blankets, smoothly shifting him closer until his helpless cocoon of a body was positioned just underneath her head. She took some more time here, fiddling with his face as her slightly shaky fingers explored every bit of flesh and skin.

"I don't understand," Brom announced abruptly, but privately enjoyed the touches. "You – you don't want me to talk about anything? You don't want to – talk about – 'hey, what do we do now?'"

Lydia craned forward, pressing her lips to his cheek. She remained there for a few seconds before retreating, rubbing at more bruised skin softly with a finger.

"No," her voice wasn't quiet – instead, it was firm and audible this time. "I'm just here for you."

This seemed a rather odd innuendo to throw his way, and Brom let out another nervous chuckle, pleasing her immensely. Lydia wrapped an arm around the small of his back, shoving it closer to herself before using her other hand to continue navigating his face.

"Brom – I need to, erm..."

He knew what she meant, and appreciated how reluctant she was to even say it. He obliged, nodding his head before turning around to expose his back to her.

"It'll just be a second, that's all..."

Although he enjoyed the feeling of that warm blanket immensely, Brom was disappointed to see it be gently pried open and suddenly a wave of cold air his back – but Lydia promptly took care of this, looping an arm around his stomach to shove him closer so that practically every joint in his body was in contact with her own frame. He felt a warm gust of air constantly blow past his ears, then realized he was close enough to hear her breathing – directly above him.

"Just going to see the skin quickly..."

Brom felt several fingers run across the length of his exposed back, still half-covered by the blanket. Occasionally they would stumble upon a few scars that pulsed as she touched them, but Lydia quickly moved her fingers away if she sensed it was causing him pain.

Brom relaxed. It almost felt like a massage, and at no point did Lydia seem to be overly concerned with any particular bit of skin. He knew she was just scanning for any visible deformities, any abnormalities past the usual gashes and bruises – making sure he was – _disease-free_?

He shuddered.

"Brom?"

A note of tension. He felt anxious.

"What?"

"You're – you're fine. I just – wanted to make sure you didn't feel nervous."

Brom unexpectedly turned over, feeling a surge of adrenaline fuel his next question.

"You'll never look at me the same way, will you?"

Lydia almost seemed to hold these words close to her, frowning morosely at him. Brom blinked twice to let her know it was okay to reveal the truth.

"What did you say to me?" she breathed, a hint of anger in her voice.

Brom thought again. It was more indignity than anger. "I – I mean after all this... I probably won't ever look the same way to you."

She kept a stare on him, adjusting her body randomly.

"Because I was – well so weak-looking in that moment," Brom quietly admonished himself. "Naked. Cr – crying. Just so – "

"But that was with them," her whisper came back. "You're mine now."

Brom felt taken aback. "What?"

Lydia smiled, emotion practically vibrating away from her. She braced herself on her elbow, then moved closer to him, again laying the same arm across his blanketed torso. She laid her head down extremely close to his own – close enough so that he could move one inch and cover himself with her.

"You're mine now," Lydia reinforced, bringing her lips to the exact same spot on his cheek again – but she didn't move away this time. "Mine."

She kept her lips in the same position. Brom immediately relaxed into her grip, adjusting himself so that he was adjusted to her frame. He almost felt like ripping off his blanket and throwing it on her too. His eyes were beginning to fade hazily.

"Hmph," he groaned, feeling her grip tighten more around him. It almost felt as if every limb she had was wrapping itself aroud him, like a snake.

"You sure you don't want me to talk about anything?" Brom tried again, frankly amazed.

Lydia giggled, removing her lips before resting her chin on his head.

"No."

And that was enough. He had no more defenses. He had no more barriers to withstand her assault. It was all over.

"Brom?"

He let out a childish grin. "What?"

"You look sleepy."

He snickered into her neck, whining to make her tighten her grip. "I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"Shut up."

"You can't even see your face."

"So? I know I don't look sleepy."

"Go to sleep."

Brom laughed. "In your arms? No..."

Lydia smirked, resting her lips again on his head. "Why not?"

"Because you're ugly."

Lydia pinched his ear, forcing Brom to wriggle in her grip. She purred as he whined against her, unable to move underneath the thick blankets and her own considerable strength.

"This is way better than doing Skooma," Brom remarked.

"Aww – that's cute."

"Stop calling me cute – I'm not cute."

"Yes you are..."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"I'd agree."

Brom felt anxiety run through him. He immediately moved closer to Lydia reactively, fear gripping him.

Lydia was already alerted to the foreigner's voice. Her own instincts had also materialized – and Brom felt himself nearly be crushed into her frame. Lydia's mouth was open, staring at the female, lanky, aged frame standing in the now open doorway. The words from the woman were short, but impactful.

"Maven Black-Briar – at your service."

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Again, hoping the ending isn't corny..._

 _A more subtle chapter, but hopefully still interesting... great fun to write this, especially now that the dynamic duo is back!_

 _9 chapters to go! Nearing the end... I hope the battle for Whiterun wasn't randomly ended - the point I tried to make was that with Brom rescued, the rest of the details didn't matter as much to Lydia, and the story reflected that._

 _As always, I'd appreciate any support and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_

 _P.S: (very long, so read only if interested. I also deconstruct and rant a lot, so that's another warning)_

 _So I'm sure the question has come up – who's really the hero of the story?_

 _Well, in short – both Lydia and Brom. (depends on what a hero means, I suppose)_

 _I think they complement each other in certain ways, and they contrast each other effectively. Another interesting thing to explore was the dynamics of female/male relations (without romantic attractions, etc.) Nothing against traditionally "manly man/girly girl" pairings, but I just think they end up cliches when done nowadays – it's been done so many times, and it's so predictable to have the male character just infinitely powerful and reassuring to everyone in the cast..._

 _I think there's a great subversion and interesting change of pace to have a FEMALE character placed in a comforting position for a MALE character. Note that I'm not trying to make any fancy political agenda here – I just genuinely feel that Lydia/Brom are more like older sister/younger brother (hopefully that's not a spoiler, I mean after all this time I hope that's obvious by now...) and I've always been fascinated how older, more dominant figures comfort younger, more inexperieced characters – when it's done well it can be quite powerful, and when it's not – it can come across as quite corny. That's why I hope readers understand why it took nearly 40+ chapters for their relationship to build to this point – just like in real life, relationships evolve and mature over time, go through rough patches, etc... there's no fun in just starting off with two characters loving each other, then the sense of realism is lost. Plus, the slow-building nature of the story – I hope it makes chapters like these more enjoyable to read, because people have a pent-up sense of "When will they just love each other and be happy and hugs and kisses etc."..._

 _What I hope I've done, is show a natural progression of their relationship as events unfold around them – and I hope it feels genuinely like how people would react if they were actually thrust into Skyrim with danger lurking everywhere._

 _The point of this story has always been about ordinary stories being actually extraordinary if viewed from a different lens – and I hope this achieves that in some way. Hence why I've focused so much on two characters, hence why there isn't that much complex political drama going on (there is a bit, I suppose) – all of that stuff could be referenced in the background, but in my experience the stories that we most remember are the memories and shared experiences with other people... and that's the feeling I hope this story gives off._

 _I understand this story isn't really even close (numbers/reviews/favorites/follows-wise) to what many consider a "popular" story – but honestly, just having people to follow the stuff I write is amazing. I'd do it if I had one viewer or a million – so thanks to the P.M's and reviews that said I should get more R/R's – means a lot!_

 _I don't know, sometimes writing the story can be really therapeutic for me – and I really enjoy moments like these with just all-around "feel-goodness" permeating the scenes – makes writing the story worthwhile._

 _Or maybe, this is all just pure garbage. (sarcasm)_


	42. Beginning to End

**Beginning to End**

* * *

The dungeons of Dragonsreach were by far, the most untouched part of Whiterun.

Although the Hold's former (and now evicted) residents had done well to scar the city enough so that the shops and marketplaces were open, ransacked, and destroyed – a large majority were being actively rebuilt. In the sweltering heat of noontime, most of the workers rebuilding consisted of guards and citizens still able enough to assist with the manual labor – even the Jarl himself had taken to help with the reconstruction. Blocks of stone were put back into buildings, bonfires were removed, corpses were either buried or burnt – Whiterun was healing, but it would be a slow and gradual process before the Hold regained any of its' former luster. Balgruuf had estimated three days – Farengar had suggested three weeks – the latter being a bit cynical perhaps, as he was just recently discovered by a guard whilst being tied to the pole outside the Stables.

Lydia had ignored all this chatter, having retreated with her annoying query to the murky depths of Dragonsreach, confident that the dungeons were virtually as private as far as places could go. She had lead herself and Maven down a deep flight of stairs, ending up in the same room where she had "interviewed" Brom and Skulvar a year ago. It was just as simple and plain as before, stone walls and floor cramped inwards. Lydia had immediately begun pacing around the bare room, waiting for Maven to speak.

"This is nice and quiet. Perhaps even – "

"Shut it."

"I don't understand why we couldn't have just stayed in Riverwood and talked. I'm sure the boy isn't _that –_ "

Lydia's eyes widened, rage gripping her. She had to suppress the need to rip Maven's head off.

"One more word," she breathed, holding the old woman by the collar of her fine garments. "And I'll kill you myself. Tell me why you came all the way here."

"You seem to be perpetually angry with me," Maven's smooth voice came back, ignoring the demand then promptly shoved Lydia away from her. "Last time I recall – you swung your fist across my face and told me to leave the boy alone."

Lydia rubbed at her eyebrows, frustrated with this. Every second she spent talking to Maven meant another valuable moment lost – that she _could have_ spent with Brom.

"I did," Lydia gruffly admitted. "And you did. Thank you."

"Not quite," Maven denied, then handed Lydia a scrolled piece of paper.

Lydia immediately unfurled the scroll, squinting at the letters written with anger, then apprehension, and finally – raw confusion.

"I – I don't understand," Lydia recognized. "This is from – your granddaughter, right?"

Maven nodded slowly. "Alondria. She even signed her name at the end."

"Hmph," Lydia snorted. "I don't understand why she ranted against Brom, if that's what you're asking. Probably unrequited love. Who cares? Talk to your gra – "

"I can't," Maven cut across. "Lydia – she's dead."

Lydia's first instinct was to gasp, then offer a consoling look – but realized that Maven herself didn't seem to appear upset over this.

"Really?" she let out.

"Her father found her, hanging from a noose in her bedroom," Maven recalled. "Poor man's went on a drinking binge ever since... Sibbi hasn't been taking it too well either."

Lydia shut her eyes, immediate paranoia gripping her.

"I – I think I know why you're here," she tried. "Revenge. Listen, Maven – please..."

She moved to grip Maven's shoulders again, and this time with more emotion. "I know how it looks – but just... come after me, all right? Leave – leave him out of this."

"Noble and affectionate of you, Dragonborn," Maven renounced. "But you misunderstand. I haven't come all this way to try and hurt you or the boy – I simply want the truth."

Lydia sighed. "What truth? I don't know anymore of how they interacted than you..."

"That's why I was hoping to speak to the boy," Maven forced. "Get to the bottom of this matter..."

Lydia squirmed. "No! Please... he's been through – "

"I know exactly what he's been through," Maven interrupted coldly. "I don't care. Either let me speak to him or I do something – else."

Lydia felt that usual protective surge of anger resurface, but also a hint of curiosity. "Wait – how do you already know what happened? I – "

"Because I know our Khajiit friends," Maven again interrupted. "I know what they're capable of."

Lydia didn't understand what this fully meant. "I – I – "

"I let it happen. I ordered his capture."

A pause. Her mind wasn't really processing anything Maven was saying.

"Really?" Lydia asked, voice down to a whisper. "Really..."

Another pause. Maven had a playful smirk stretched across her face – this served to hurt Lydia more than anger her.

"You couldn't," Lydia scoffed away, knowing privately that it was all true. "No one could order that done – to a young boy, no one could be that cruel..."

"Did he enjoy it?"

Another pause. Lydia looked at Maven with a dumbfounded expression. "What?"

Maven moved closer, smirk now evolved into a broad grin.

"His time with my associates. Did Brom enjoy it?"

Lydia lunged forward, not even having a weapon in hand. It didn't matter how important Maven was – it didn't matter how Maven was able to order such a thing... all that mattered was that the woman would die, immediately.

A piercing sensation. Lydia felt her entire body tense up, then her knees gave out. She bent down against her own will, limbs locked into that lunging position with her torso rigid. She was on her knees, immobile and flustered.

Maven bent down to her eye-level, waving a brightly-shining dagger with the tip stained with blood.

"That was a paralyzing enchantment," the Black-Briar noted, pressing the blade to Lydia's throat. "Cost me a great sum of gold, but I'd say it's worth it..."

She pressed the dagger harder into the skin, bringing a new cut to surface. Lydia felt nothing but hatred go through her.

"I think it's time you knew the truth about everything," Maven noted, removing the dagger. She grabbed a nearby chair, taking a seat next to Lydia's kneeling pose. "Perhaps then you won't – be so oppositional towards me. Because you're been of great help to me, Dragonborn."

Again, the title was used hatefully. Lydia tensed up, knowing fully that it wasn't going to relieve the enchantment.

"Do you wish to know the truth?" Maven colloquially questioned. "About everything?"

Lydia shut her eyes in loathing. "What – the _fuck –_ are you talking about?"

"Language dear," Maven reprimanded, swinging the blade in her palms. "See – I've been following you since the beginning."

Lydia sighed. "Vague answer. Mind telling more?"

"I know about your little lie back in Whiterun," Maven emphasized. "A horseman? Dohvakiin – that's not quite believable, is it?"

"It's all in the past now," Lydia ran across. "Why are you telling me this? I don't give a damn that you know."

"But it's all connected," Maven stated. "The lie. The Brotherhood's pressure against you..."

"They told me to get a human sacrifice – in revenge for killing Astrid," Lydia called out. "And I almost did – until they revealed how monstorous they truly were. I – "

"I saved you."

Lydia viciously laughed, squinting her eyes in anger. "Funny."

Maven placed her hand on Lydia's forehead, pressing hard. " _I_ was the one to pay off the Brotherhood. Dragonborn – did you _really_ think a spattered trail of bloody armor pieces would trick them into thinking you and the boy were dead?"

Lydia swallowed, paralysis making this listening process worse. Maven _had_ to be telling the truth – there wouldn't anyone else who witnessed the entire ruse Brom pulled off so many months ago.

"I _saved_ you both," Maven remarked, glancing down at the floor. "Why you may ask? Because you are invaluable to me, Dragonborn."

Lydia was beginning to pick up on the details. "And – and the whole Riften inspection thing?"

"You'd be surprised how easy it is to forge an Imperial letter these days," Maven slurred, admiring the splash of blood coating the tip of her dagger. "Tullius trying to destabilize Riften? Such a good lie, you must congratulate me in that regard..."

"I see no point to any of your scheming," Lydia spat. "Seems to me like you're just acting like the criminal you are."

"I knew how you'd react to it," Maven mentioned. "Knew how you'd come rushing to poor Laila's aid – pity that all the fuss was for nothing."

"You knew I'd give my loyalty to you," Lydia connected. "You knew..."

Maven smiled in acknowledgement. "And then you kept screwing up my plans for Whiterun and Ulfric..."

Lydia paused. "What?"

"My employees – the cannibalistic savages... let that fool Tullius go after they sieged Whiterun," Maven noted. "I had arranged a prior deal with Ulfric so that he would let Whiterun, a neutral city, be captured – and knowing how overconfident the moron was, I waited patiently for him to approach Riften and try to buy my loyalty."

"Tullius' escaping wasn't part of the plan, was it?" Lydia questioned. "You needed time to wait for Ulfric to come to Riften so you could force him under your service – I wasn't meant to find about Whiterun until later."

"You're quick," Maven admired. "But as soon as you left – I saw a golden opportunity; if I can't stop Whiterun from being retaken, perhaps I could set up Tullius and Ulfric against one another..."

"Kill two birds with one stone," Lydia stated bluntly, a brief amazement shining through her. She could have never imagined this level of planning – even from Maven. "They're – they're dead, aren't they?"

"If I were you, I'd call off any search for them," Maven whispered. "Classically predictable Ulfric – so greedy to overplay his position... and when paired with that egomaniacal moron Tullius – "

"So why bother me with all this?" Lydia admitted, feeling defeated. "Great job. You used me all the time for your own damn needs. Let me and – Brom go."

"I find it amusing how after all this, that's your sole concern," Maven bit. "Predictable as usual."

"Bugger off," Lydia retorted. "If I weren't under this paralysis enchantment..."

"Tsk tsk," Maven harshly demanded. "You need to appreciate this moment."

A whiff of air cutting through the way. Lydia felt a fist swing across her face, tearing her lip before she fell to the ground – awkward position still in effect.

"DON'T YOU SEE?" Maven roared, wrenching Lydia up by the hair. "DON'T YOU SEE THE BEAUTY OF IT ALL?"

Lydia shut her eyes, pain rushing through her scalp. "What – what the hell?"

"THE BEAUTY OF IT!" Maven screamed again. "THE BEAUTY OF PREDICTABILITY! THE BEAUTY OF SEEING PEOPLE AS PATTERNS OF CAUSE AND EFFECT!"

She calmed down, but still kept her grip on Lydia's hair.

"The Civil War," Maven began. "The Brotherhood. Whiterun. Those cannibal savages – all so easy to manipulate..."

"Why did you save me to begin with?" Lydia let out, struggling against the building sense of pain. "Why not just let the Brotherhood kill me?"

"Because at certain points in my life, you've been useful to me," Maven acknowledged. "Other times – not so much. But I will confess one thing..."

She leaned closer, letting go of Lydia's hair before staring into her eyes. "I wasn't aware of all the things my employees did to their – captives. Especially the young ones..."

Lydia forcefully balled her fist, feeling the paralysis leave her in gradual waves.

"Extraordinary," Maven remarked. "I've never seen a person shorten the duration of the enchantment – you must be quite angry. Dragonborn indeed!"

"Just come closer," Lydia urged, practically bursting with tension. "Just into my hands – so I can crush every bone in your body."

"The fact still stands," Maven forced across. "Someone killed my grand daughter. The boy is connected to it with the letter..."

"He has nothing to do with anything!" Lydia roared, a tear forming. "At the least – leave him out of it! You have a problem with me, not with – "

"I don't care what you think," Maven denoted, slapping Lydia across the face. "I will give you three days to propose a solution to this – problem."

"How?" Lydia recognized. "What do you mean? Hand him over so you can kill him?"

"Or prove his innocence," Maven embarked. "Or offer me another – equally tempting offer. I'm a fair woman – but fairness necessitates both punishment and reward, I'm afraid..."

Lydia felt movement being restored to her limbs, able to twitch in place.

"Three days Dragonborn," Maven shot back. "I shall stay with the Jarl right in Dragonsreach until then. And in case you get the idea to do something really stupid – like intimidate me or threaten to kill me, much less actually succeed in doing so..."

She focused her gaze at Lydia. It was as cold as it was impartial. "I will end you before it even begins. I am the head of the Black-Briars – and you know what I'm capable of."

Lydia was just able to utter a last expletive as Maven gently made her way out of the room, and up the staircase leading to the very city she had destroyed then rebuilt.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Shortish chapter, but very long segment with just two characters – hope a lot of the suspicions many of you were having were confirmed in this chapter! No Brom segments here – but don't worry, they're coming! I just had to use this chapter to set up a lot of the rest of the story – and I hope you all find it interesting throughout..._

 _It may seem obvious to say "Why doesn't Lydia just kill Maven?" - but hopefully that will be answered satisfactorily in the next chapter..._

 _Needless to say, we're close to approaching the end of the story, and I've mapped out the rest of the chapters down – so I finally know the full ending to this tale! And you will too, soon..._

 _Hopefully it all finishes strong, and it finishes in an interesting fashion._

 _As always, I'd appreciate any support and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	43. The First Day

**The First Day**

* * *

Everyone didn't know.

Brom was sure they didn't know. The kind bartenders who resided at the Inn were clearly under the delusion that Brom had suffered some "head injury" and needed immediate rest and less access to the public – he internally thanked Lydia for that.

She had been gone for a while now, and every following hour had been more difficult to bear alone than the preceding one. He wasn't even sure she would need to talk much if she was there with him – but that longing sense of attachment was still there, and Maven had only stressed him further than he had anticipated.

Not too much – from what he could remember, she was a personable (if a bit cold) individual, and obviously very wealthy and powerful – as all Black-Briars were. But anything past that point, he wasn't sure of what to make of her.

Currently however, he was occupied with constructing his own birthday cake – in the solace of his own room.

He hadn't left the room obviously. But after a few exchanges with the bartenders, he had managed to secure a large cake taken from the store cellar – it was a bit old, but it didn't matter much to him. He had also offered to pay, with the little coin he had stolen from a purse Lydia had left behind – but the innkeepers rejected this, smoothly reassuring that their reward was the joy of interacting with the Dragonborn herself.

 _If only they knew how much she hated that_ , Brom thought.

It wasn't even his birthday – or at least, he was fairly sure of it. He didn't have many pleasant memories of his past before meeting Skulvar – but he was getting too philosophical now. He guessed he was born sometime in the summer months, based on indirect observation and consulting with many random people in Riften...

"Brom?"

He had failed to hear the door open again. He immediately ran up to the open doorframe, hugging tightly before pulling Lydia inside.

"Easy, woah – what's with all the energy?" she asked kindly, pinching his ear with amusement. "A few hours ago you were just lying down – underneath the blankets."

"Decided to celebrate my birthday," Brom mentioned casually. "Not even sure if this is the right damn date either..."

She snickered at this, taking a seat on his bed – then began watching him fiddle with the cramped layers of cream hastily rubbed across the top of the cake. He had chosen to place it on the table rather than the bed, which was admirably a good decision.

"You look – better," Lydia noted.

Brom chuckled. From what he saw in the mirror nearby, none of his body had healed enough to warrant a drastic change in skin tone or health that he could pick up – but he guessed she was referring to his mental state, one far removed from the huddling, fearful mass underneath heavy blankets a few hours ago.

"Why is Maven here?" Brom renounced casually. "Is something wrong?"

Lydia shook her head, rubbing her brows in a tired manner. "Nothing – just boring Whiterun reconstruction stuff."

Brom narrowed his eyes, still keeping his focus on the cake. "Really?"

"Really."

He was much more adept at reading her than he was a year ago. Brom juggled the options – either turn back and start a fight to discover the truth, or simply accept her excuse for now and find out the real reason later. Finding out what they talked about was of little consequence to Brom – but making sure Lydia avoided distancing herself from him was the top priority.

"Maybe you should call the Jarl in too," Brom added onto the likely lie, making his acceptance appear realistic. "I heard he was pretty badly beat up by the time you found him."

"He was doing fine, don't worry," Lydia immediately rang, pulling him by the waist onto the bed. "I'm not worried about him at all..."

He didn't know whether this was pity or sympathy, but again he couldn't care less. Brom let his head droop closer to her, inviting her hands to begin perusing through his overly-long hair.

"You should really cut your hair," she whispered, trying to force the unruly black mass neatly behind him. "You don't even have to go outside if you don't want to – I can get a scissor and – "

"Lydia," Brom emphasized, trying to assuage her. "I'm fine. Really – the more you sort of tip-toe around what happened, the more it gets weird – but – erm – well... wanna know how old I am now?"

She stared at him, almost bursting into laughter at the horrible attempt at changing topic. Brom pursed his lips and defiantly shook his head vigorously, loosening all the hair that had been elegantly folded behind him. Lydia hissed at this, flicking him across the forehead before yanking him back and began moving his hair back once more.

"I'm cutting this," she announced gleefully. "You're going to trip and fall one day – and then you'll be thanking me."

"Thank you _Dohvakiin_ ," Brom mocked, earning another flick across his forehead.

"And Brom?"

"Yeah?"

"Final time I'll bring it up – you'll tell me if anything was wrong, right?"

She appeared hesitant to say this, fearing Brom to get annoyed with her. He however, relaxed and shoved himself into her, forcing them both down onto the bed as she broke out into hysterics.

"I would," he finished, laying beside her. "And yes I know you're here for me, you care about me, everything's going to be fine, blah blah blah..."

Lydia seemed relieved, immediately rolling herself closer to him. "Good. That's all I want to know."

Brom just realized the cake was still on the table. He shifted his head closer to her, motioning towards the cake. "Get my birthday cake."

"No," she playfully responded, appearing offended. "How dare you offend the mighty Dragonborn..."

" _Dohvakiin_ , either get my cake or I'll kill you," Brom muttered, sniggering softly. "Don't mess around with me – I'm dangerous, you know."

Lydia faked a scared expression, hastily springing up and retrieving the cake. She waited until he sat up before placing it in the middle of them both.

"Wanna know how old I am?" Brom questioned, half-joking.

"Thirteen," she promptly replied, wide grin on her face. "Wait – maybe twelve?"

"As usual, you're hilarious," Brom whispered, slightly annoyed. "I'm – "

"Fifteen? Fourteen? WAIT NO – YOU'RE ELEVEN!"

Brom sighed, ripping off a large piece of cake before cramming it into his mouth. "Mmmm... it's good."

"Seems like it," Lydia agreed, examining the cream more closely. "Does it have any chocolate on the inside? I don't like vanilla very much..."

Brom understood that a great opportunity had just presented itself. He immediately shoved her face into the cake, chortling wildly in the process. He then saw her slowly move her cream-covered face back to the normal position, upright sitting position.

"W – W – Well?" he asked, smirking every second. "Did – did you see any chocolate?"

Lydia breathed slowly, wiping off the cream with a blank expression. "Yes. Actually – good one, Brom."

He felt confused. "Really? I don't think this – "

A flashing of cream and her hand. Brom felt his vision be blanketed by a layer of soft, mushy layer of cake. He was jus able to wipe enough away to see her sneering at him.

"This is warfare," she whispered silently, taking a chunk of cake in her other palm. "Surrender now – and I may give you the mercy of death."

Brom shook his head in feigned anger. "Never! For Skyrim!"

He lunged forward, a chunk of cake in hand – but she was too quick, immediately swirling around him before slapping her own piece of cake across his eyes, blinding him.

 _Strategic little bi –_

He couldn't even finish the thought, feeling a heavy force swing him up before slamming him onto the bed. He was disoriented for a moment, and laying on his stomach on top of the bed – then was just able to make out the cake lying on the ground; it was just a few steps away from him. Brom turned back, seeing Lydia in a kneeling position and also on the bed, a massive chunk of cake in her hand.

"Ok I give up!" he announced, realizing how pointless this was. "By the – we wasted a perfectly good cake!"

She appeared to still be in character. "Tell me now boy – do you wish to die slowly, or quickly?"

"Oh shut up," Brom noted, eyeing the cake on the floor with disdain. "Help me get a br – "

Another force sweeping him, under the chest this time – then flipped him over. Brom rubbed more cream off him to see Lydia kneeling close to him, cake in hand and acting as savage as possible.

"Let's give you a new hairstyle," she demanded, pinning his reluctant arms as her other palm with the cake made its way to his scalp.

"No!" he roared, moving away from her powerful grasp. "No! No! Lydia please, no! It'll take ages to wash out..."

"Tr – trust – me! Eugh – Brom! It'll - it'll look good on you!" she forced, laughing like an insane woman as Brom began kicking out at her in defense. "Brom! All – the ergh – ladies will want you – just let me – "

He was laughing too – perhaps even more than her. Brom couldn't stop it anyways, as her body was too quick to hit with kicks – and one of her arms was enough to pin down both of his. The other hand had given up on reaching his scalp, now focusing on his moving feet.

"Fine – maybe some new shoes?" she wondered out loud, wrestling his arms down while she lifted one of his ankles up, readying a massive chunk of cream in hand.

Brom stopped, feelings rush through him.

 _His ankles._

 _On their shoulders._

 _The lantern._

 _Giggling._

 _Moaning._

" _Good fishy..."_

"Stop," he whispered, feeling suddenly uneasy. "Lydia – stop, please... LYDIA!"

She stopped moving gradually, looking at him with confusion. "What?"

Brom tried to say something, but she realized what was happening, immediately letting go of his ankle before moving well away from him, sitting glumly in the corner of the bed.

"I – I'm sorry," Lydia attempted. "I didn't realize..."

"No I'm sorry," Brom broke in, closing the distance between them quickly. "I – it's just stupid, so stupid..."

Lydia shook her head, obviously still in deep guilt. She didn't respond to his hand on her shoulder, trying to relieve her of the guilt – and Brom himself felt a bit guilty, almost angry at his mind for flooding an incredibly happy moment with such rancid memories. He wished he could have restrained himself better.

Lydia looked away from him and onto the floor, shame vibrating through her. Brom felt he had a solution to this problem as well, smacking her across the face with a hidden chunk of cake. She stared at him in exasperation.

"I win," Brom simply put, grinning as she smiled in return.

 **. . .**

She would have liked to stay more.

Multiple times the innkeeper had taken to interrupting her time with Brom, informing them both that Lydia had been called by Jarl Balgruuf to assist with the repairs – and every time, Lydia had ignored them and then resumed enjoying her time alone with him. Unfortunately, after five times of doing this and several hours passing – the Jarl himself had infilitrated the private room, and Brom had to suppress Lydia from chewing him out in the full view of all the patrons in the Inn.

And now here she was, walking alongside Balgruuf as the latter tried to lessen her anger against him. They had stopped just at the gates into Whiterun, still unmanned by guards.

"It's noon," he whined, bringing a weathered hand up to keep the sunlight from blinding him. "And it's hot. Are you really going to remain mad at me until – "

"Forever," Lydia cut short, idly kicking the gates. "I don't want to talk to you right now."

"Lydia," Balgruuf emphasized, frustrated. "I need your help. Whiterun – "

"You're the Jarl," Lydia noted. "Can you please just leave me alone?"

"He'll be fine," Balgruuf guessed, twitching as her nostrils flared. "You've been ducking me for hours! And then - "

"I was spending time with my – " Lydia began, pausing herself to think what proper noun to use. " - erm – "

"With your _what_?" Balgruuf questioned, smirking subtly. "Younger doppelganger?"

"Not really that funny," Lydia asked. "Why do you even need me here? I'm assuming most of Whiterun is reconstructed already."

"That's the thing," Balgruuf mentioned, lightly pushing open the gates to unveil a heap of noise within. "Maven Black-Briar is here! And she wants to invest a hundred thousand gold in Whiterun! Did you – "

Lydia tuned out the rest of his speech, immediately stepping into Whiterun with anguish.

She noticed her surroundings first, assuming that Maven was already there, waiting for her. Then, to her disappointment – the old Black-Briar was standing in the center of a large crowd, mostly comprised of a mixture of guards and citizens. They noted Lydia's entrance at once, cheering loudly before rushing to form a circle around her. She smiled a bit, seeing the Yolin brothers jump in ecstasy in the middle while a depressed Tulso (as usual) nodded his head at her at the outside of the crowd.

A rushing of voices.

"The Dragonborn!"

" _Dohvakiin –_ savior of Whiterun!"

"I saw your mages! Did you ever think that..."

"I'm just here to help with the reconstruction!" Lydia shouted, other voices immediately silencing. "Please! Resume with the rebuilding – that's an order!"

It felt rather arrogant to say this, and she could see how many citizens felt offended at being bluntly commanded away – but Lydia knew it was the only way she could eliminate the distractions and focus on Maven – both tackling her old problem with Brom and the new threat Balgruuf had unintentionally mentioned to her.

The crowd began dispersing into the city, heaps of people working on shifting massive stone blocks into place. Lydia observed with happiness that the city was virtually clean of bodies and blood – the only remaining work was purely construction, and the rebuilding of minor shops and of course, the reframing of Dragonsreach's base pillars. She walked to the now alone Maven first, motioning for Balgruuf to stay back and give her a few minutes alone.

"Dragonborn," the smooth voice came out once more. "To what do I owe this – "

"Skip the mind-twisting crap," Lydia cut short. "You're investing in Whiterun? All of a sudden?"

"Yes!" Maven handily responded. "I'd like to think that Whiterun would need some help in – "

"You brought this city to the _ground_ ," Lydia whispered, almost compelled to choke the woman to death. "And now here you are – trying to stick an _investment_?"

"As I've said before, I'm not a cruel person," Maven denoted. "I'm logical. When something is useful, I'll want it. When it's not – "

"You know, I've thought long and hard about what you said to me last night in the dungeon," Lydia recalled. "I've been weighing the options."

"Awfully liberating words for someone who enabled the death of my grand daughter," Maven fired back. "Did you tell the boy yet?"

"No," Lydia ignored. "I'm not going to ever tell him."

This was partially true. While she was with him and still shoving cake into his face, he had questioned her several times on how he could re-enable contact with his friends Alondria and Keeko – but she had deftly maneuvered around the subject. While Lydia knew the girl's fate absolutely, she had never bothered with the other boy.

"He's the one who killed her!" Maven practically yelled, then brought her voice down as onlookers stared in awkwardness. "Listen – I'd have hoped you would have at least made _some_ progress in meeting my demands – you only have three days left, including today."

Lydia unsheathed a small dagger, prepared for the worst. "It's over Maven – I'm – "

"Greetings Dragonborn!"

She stopped, turning back to see the Yolin brothers with a gleeful smile. Maven snorted loudly behind her.

"Predictable as usual, Dragonborn," Maven claimed, stepping over to the Yolin brothers' side with a smile. "Oh yes – you see the full picture now?"

Lydia had her jaw hanging, staring at the Yolin brothers with a hurt look on her face. The depths that Maven had planned it all – and one of the brother had died too...

"Yes, they work for me," Maven glorified. "But – sad to see one of their own die so quickly into battle..."

Lydia shook her head, determination gripping her. "Big deal. I'm fine taking all three of you on – right now."

"Tsk tsk," Maven purred, hanging an arm around the shorter Yolin brother. "You really think so?"

Lydia hesitated, dagger still hard in her palm and ready for action. She had no doubts as to whether she could best the brothers and get to Maven quickly enough to slaughter her – but why was she acting so confident?

"You're too predictable Lydia," Maven slurred, moving her hand to her face to grip the edge of her jawbone. "So predictable..."

Lydia gasped.

The movement that Maven was doing was horrible – but also somewhat confusing. Maven was cleanly – _removing_ the skin starting from her jawbone, entire mass of flesh constituting her face being ripped off brutally. However, there was no blood and no tears in the underlying muscle – if there was any. Instead, a new face emerged, features distinctly young and completely unrecognizable. They were stern and masculine, and they peered at Lydia with disdain.

"You're – not Maven," Lydia concluded, seeing the man smile with a wink at her. "But – wait a second..."

She recognized the third face suddenly – the dead Yolin brother.

"But how?" she questioned, dagger now turned down as surprise was flooding through her. "You – I saw your corpse..."

"No," the brother commenced, real voice now coming out. "You saw an illusion – just as you saw an illusion now..."

Lydia bit her lips in anger, realizing the truth of it all. "Where's Maven?"

The brothers simply laughed, smiling at her.

"Where is she?" Lydia spat, holding the dagger close to the tallest brother's throat, anger seething despite the crowd forming with ensuing questions.

"You've made a mistake Dragonborn..."

Lydia was anxious. She had to be.

"WHERE?"

"Where _he_ is."

Lydia shut her eyes. She _had_ made a mistake after all.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Those pesky Yolin brothers... didn't even see them coming... (irony on my part, I mean I'm writing the story ;))_

 _In case it seemed too off the radar – Lydia had gone into Whiterun with every intention of killing Maven, but was tricked and was too late to find her – and the woman speaking to her inside was obviously a fake set up. Just making sure readers understood that – although I hope it made sense! I didn't want it to be too explicit..._

 _Also, I'd like to note again that the reconstruction of Whiterun is deliberately kept vague – the focus of the arc is on Brom and Lydia's problems, with the reconstruction of Whiterun perhaps serving as a backdrop and more of an indicator of story continuity than adding real plot value... And so, the pace of the chapters to come will be sort of tightly focused and less grand (i.e spanning several weeks, months, etc.) - it is the climax after all!_

 _More chapters to come! And hopefully more insight into "why doesn't she just kill maven and be done with it"... trust me, it'll make sense (crossing fingers) in the end._

 _As always, I'd appreciate any support and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_

 _P.S: Always fun to write Brom/Lydia moments :) They're not exactly a romantic pairing, but still I think their interactions are pretty engaging regardless..._


	44. The Second Day

**The Second Day**

* * *

Lydia had promised him that she would return before midnight, but Brom fell asleep without the distinct squeaking of noise that door made every time she entered.

It was morning. Fresh sunlight was beaming through the gentle windowsills, initially irritating him out of a deep slumber but also served to reinvigorate his spirits. The Inn had seemingly fewer guests every progressive day he was there – he wondered whether Lydia had terrorized enough citizens so that they avoided rooming at the Inn entirely.

He had appreciated the sentiment, and knew she wasn't doing it out of pity – but still, the guilt was there. After a few days rest and spending time recovering with her, Brom felt a need to step beyond the safe confines of his small room – even though his instincts were telling him to rest more.

But it was over. _They_ were gone. Whiterun was safe again.

 _He_ was safe.

It was more out of self-preservation than anything else, despite Brom fully knowing how safe Riverwood was.

"Wonder if she'll get mad at seeing me walking outside," Brom mumbled, tearing the sheets off him. "Oh well..."

He stood up, stretching out the knots in his lower back before opening the slanted closet, looking directly into the long mirror slapped onto the side.

He smiled, then shuddered.

It was so long since he had seen his own body in the flesh – and it was every bit as gruesome yet uplifting as he had hoped. His first impression was that he wasn't wearing the same rags that he had in the cellar of the Warmaiden – it had been replaced with a white and black garment, checkered patterns covering most of his skin except for the forearms and head area. This also meant she had re-clothed him at some point in time, probably after that first night spent in Riverwood – this only added to the twinge of shame Brom was already carrying.

His various cuts and bruises – long since healed into fresh scars – dotted most of the exposed flesh, running across his forearm and neck. His face seemed strangely unfamiliar, even to himself – there were light bruises of course, but the expression was not one Brom thought he was capable of making. There was an immense hopefulness present in his eyes, but despairing cheekbones and a gaunt jaw – Brom felt a bit of pity rise up.

He couldn't stay here.

Brom examined the floor, looking for anything to take with him on his walk. She had made every attempt to make him as comfortable as possible, and he knew the value of her frequent visits – and judging by how angry Jarl Balgruuf had been with her every time he came, Lydia had clearly blown off many meetings in Whiterun solely to spend more time at the Inn.

So in a sense, it was fitting that she was absent last night and most of yesterday – even Lydia couldn't ignore her responsibilities _that_ much.

"Excuse me?"

He knew the voice, and so no fear came. The door creaked open slightly, and a middle-aged Nord peeked his face in.

"You can open the door more Orgnar," Brom mouthed back, throwing a thick coat and a hood on, nodding at the innkeeper. "I'm fine."

"I just don't want to upset the Dragonborn," Orgnar emphasized, fully opening the door. "She told me to minimize _any_ interaction with you – and her tone was so damn – "

"Yeah, she can get like that," Brom laughed off, slipping on a pair of footwraps. "I'm guessing no one's in the Inn?"

"Yeah, it's been quiet today," Orgnar confirmed. "It's been quiet every since you got here – but uh – so who are you? Like a – cousin or something?"

Brom hadn't thought of this, and Orgnar himself seemed to be frightened to even ask the question.

What _was_ he to her?

A friend?

A companion?

Random stable lackey?

"We just know each other over some traveling," Brom denoted, keeping it factual. "I'm not related to her in any way."

"I figured that," Orgnar mentioned. "You're too old to be her son, too young to be an allied warrior, and you don't seem like the royalty type – but then again, neither does the Dragonborn herself..."

"How does she act when coming here?" Brom quietly asked, standing closer to Orgnar. "She visits a lot."

"She doesn't talk to anyone but me and Delphine," Orgnar iterated. "Tells us that no one else is allowed in the room. Then she goes in. What does she do with you?"

Brom chuckled. "Nothing. Just – random things. Hangs around before Jarl Balgruuf forces her out."

"Yeah, I hear Whiterun's almost ready to go back to business," Orgnar stated. "You must be important – I mean she spent literally most of the week hanging around here, instead of assisting the reconstruction..."

Brom smiled, feeling good about himself. "No – I just know her well. I'm not really important..."

He walked past Orgnar, tightening his hood and looked back. "I'm going to go out for a walk – relax, it's okay with her."

"Hey, if she catches you – " Orgnar waved away, "It's your funeral. Not mine's."

Brom snickered, walking to the thick wooden door before pushing it away from him.

More sunlight, but surprisingly little noise.

It was early in the morning of course, and Brom guessed most of Riverwood hadn't quite woken up yet – but a few were, such as a large Nord man working his blacksmith shop to Brom's left, and an old woman tanning leather also to his left. Aside from that, Riverwood was still in a peaceful sleep – observable but not plentiful buildings were tidy and cozily resting in all directions, and the usual stone trail split the town into two sides. Brom heard a cow mooing somewhere behind him – evidently, Riverwood had a farm.

"Brom!"

He swiveled his head to the right, seeing an old, cloaked woman with a recognizably powerful face and smooth voice.

"Maven Black-Briar?" Brom questioned, narrowing his eyes. "How do you – I know we met before in Riften and in this Inn but – "

"You knew my grand daughter Alondria," Maven insisted, moving closer to him. "Correct?"

Brom smiled, memories flooding. "Yeah, I did. But then – erm, I got here."

This was the most stupid explanation he could think of, but there was no chance Brom would tell the truth of the situation – and he seldom wanted to think about what had happened himself.

"I know what happened Brom," Maven assured, placing a hand on his shoulder. "And I for one, express my deepest condolences..."

Brom nodded briefly, hoping she would change the subject.

"Rest assured, the monsters are being punished for their crimes," Maven assuaged, an expression of anger gripping her face. "What kind of low-life scum would do such a thing? Allow cannibals to do _that_ to such a young boy..."

"I'm not a boy anymore," Brom whispered, a quiet burst of rage confronting him. "And no need to worry about it – erm, I appreciate the sentiment of sympathy.

"Oh of course, it's the least I can do," Maven bluntly informed. "If only a Black-Briar had been there to help – I assure you, you would have been saved earlier..."

"I'd rather stop talking about this," Brom cut short, not caring how important she was. "What's happening? Anything you – erm, need from me? To what do I owe this uh – pleasure?"

He wanted to begin his walk, but Maven was clearly intent on talking something with him.

"Alondria – hung herself in her room a few weeks – maybe a month ago..." Maven slowly delivered.

Brom gasped, regret hitting him in waves. "Really? But – "

"Her father saw the body first," Maven indicated, mechanized depression now taking a hold of her face. "Then Sibbi, my son – and everything's been tragic ever since..."

Brom frowned, more regret pulsing. "You sure it has nothing to do with – other substances?"

 _Fucking Skooma_ , Brom swore in his mind. _I – did Keeko, Sibbi and I end up killing her? Did she take too much?_

"I know about the Skooma, and it has nothing to do with that," Maven dismissed. "The cause was – well, read this please."

Brom noticed the scroll of parchment present in Maven's hand, grabbing it to unfurl and read. With every word he became more anxious – and more regretful.

"I – I get it now," Brom mused. "This – this is why you tried to meet me last time in the Inn, right? Before Lydia forced you two to talk elsewhere... and lied to me about, obviously."

"I'm afraid so," Maven concluded.

Yet another lie – a string of them, that Lydia had told him. Brom found it difficult to balance an intense affection for her with a deep-seated mistrust.

 _Could she just tell the truth, just once..._ Brom analyzed internally.

"What has she been telling you?" Maven asked, face almost genuine with concern. "Did she – ever tell you?"

Brom shook his head. "No. She never does tell me things that – actually might matter. A lot."

"Oh I see," Maven declared. "Well – I'm sure she did it in your best interests – just like you know, the matter with the horseman and the sacrifice and the cannibals..."

"Wait what?" Brom broke in, feeling confused. "What are you talking about?"

Maven appeared genuinely surprised. "What? She didn't tell you?"

"Tell what?"

"About the sacrifice. About the real reason for her needing a horseman a year ago..."

"What do you mean?"

Maven sighed, placing both hands on Brom's shoulders in what appeared to be empathy. "Brom – the whole horseman requirement was just a ruse – in reality, she needed a human sacrifice to give to the Dark Brotherhood, so they could appease a Daedric Prince..."

"You're making this up," Brom immediately called out. "Lydia – I mean, the Dragonborn would _never_ do something like that."

"She was under a lot of pressure," Maven noted. "The Brotherhood were killing members of her own left and right – until she figured out an exchange, that is."

"She told me she killed Astrid, their leader," Brom emphasized. "I thought that – "

"Well that bit _is_ true," Maven authenticated. "But she – omitted the part about needing a human sacrifice... correct?"

"I – I guess she didn't," Brom spoke, swelling with –

Anger? Confusion? Betrayal? Disgust?

So that's what he was to her?

A botched sacrifice?

" - I didn't know she was capable of that," Brom finished.

"We don't have to dwell on all that," Maven swept, taking a seat on a chair lying close by. "More importantly, Brom – I need to hear what you think of the letter Alondria wrote."

He had almost forgot about this, nearly consumed by a fresh loathing brewing against Lydia.

"I – I don't know what to say," Brom mouthed. "Maven, I swear – if I knew that her mind was so – "

"Hormonal?" Maven inferred. "Conflicted? Torn between passion and reason? Not unlike the Dragonborn herself..."

"What do you mean?" Brom asked again for clarification.

Maven smiled. "As soon as I told the Dragonborn that I would need to talk to you to clear up this – issue, she threatened to kill me."

"The idiot," Brom spat, the anger welling again. "Misguided protectiveness, the lying piece of – "

"And I was fortunate enough to bring three enforcers with me, that detained her in Whiterun," Maven proclaimed. "Surely you understand this move?"

Brom nodded his head vigorously, agreeing more out of loathing for Lydia rather than agreeing with the logic of it. "Make yourself protected from Lydia – I mean, the Dragonborn's wrath."

"Yes," Maven continued. "And also – I doubt she truly understands how influential I am... the Black-Briar family owns half of Skyrim, has donated vast sums of money to the poor and needy – and considering the amount of connections my family has – killing me would achieve nothing but the complete anarchy of society itself."

Brom widened his eyes. "You're really that – important?"

"Far more than most people know, including yourself and the Dragonborn," Maven concluded. "Do me a favor – next time you see her, tell her it's a mistake to come after me... she knows what would happen to everything if she killed me... all the political consequences – much like your error."

Brom sighed. "I – didn't – do – anything – wrong!"

Maven shook her head. "Then you decide to just blame the girl for everything?"

"I'm not trying to be insulting," Brom advised. "I just think that – well – "

"You think you're not guilty, despite what the evidence says," Maven finished, shaking her head. "Sorry – I just don't find that acceptable Brom."

"But it's true!" Brom yelled, regret hitting him nonchalantly. "I never did anything to her to make her – pull something off like this! She was my closest friend..."

"That's precisely the problem," Maven mentioned, looking at the letter again. "You thinking of her as a friend, while she clearly had more to say."

"She never said that to me! She just – kept it all inside, I guess."

"Alondria was never the type to keep it all inside," Maven countered. "You're running out of excuses, Brom."

"I didn't do it," he whispered, tension rising in his head. "And how would you know anything about her? From what she told me, only thing you were interested in was just – "

"Sir Ven?"

Brom paused, turning back from his kneeling position to see a man dressed in long, dark robes – and a face that looked distinctly aged, yet spoke with a young man's voice.

"I am Farengar Secret-Fire," the cloaked man introduced himself. "I am dispatched by Jarl Balgruuf to bring in Sir Ven. I assume you are Sir Ven?"

Brom chuckled underneath his breath, confused by the formal manner. "Um, yes – that's me. What's the problem?"

"I need to consult with you on a manner of greatest importance, in private – " Farengar continued, ignoring Maven's disapproving head. " - I'm sorry -Briar, but this is more important than whatever you may be discussing with him. The crown appreciates your investment however..."

Maven nodded, but Brom didn't understand what that meant.

"Shall we go Sir Ven?" Farengar tried, already stepping out of the shade dispelled by the roof of the Inn, motioning for Brom to follow him down the stone trail leading away.

Brom realized he had no choice. It _was_ Jarl Balgruuf after all. He deeply hoped it didn't have anything to do with Lydia...

"I shall let you go, reluctantly then," Maven dismissed. "Goodbye Brom. I am sure I will be seeing more of you soon."

Brom shook her hand and stared at her face, witnessing a smile that was polite and lightening – and eyes that were cold, but calculating. The lips were too widely stretched, the eyes were flaring too much – it upset him, in an almost terrifying way.

He followed Farengar back down the path, looking back for a second.

The eyes. The lips being too wide – nothing seemed right about her. She was smiling in the same way the werewolf had smiled, when it had attacked Lydia and Brom all those months ago...

It made him uneasy.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Here's a game: try to count the number of lies Maven tells Brom in this chapter._

 _Jokes aside, I hope this answered the "why can't Maven just be killed" hypothesis – because in my opinion, killing such an influential public figure without there being any repercussions would be unrealistic – Maven has put in the groundwork, solifidied her ties with the people (note the charity and donations line of dialogue) – so she's established herself as a reputable, if cold member of society that can be avenged if needs be..._

 _... despite her criminal empire. I also kept the details of this vague, because it's not quite as important as the plot and motivations of what Maven wants to do – it's less about how she controls things and more about why she controls things – much like, sadly, politics today._

 _But no preaching about the merits of politics. In summation, Lydia can't kill Maven because a) Yolin brothers guarding her and b) it would lead to too many negative repercussions on the political spectrum._

 _Again, not trying to be overly explicit – just trying to make all the plot movements as realistic as possible. (The entire point of Unsung Bard Tales!)_

 _As always, I'd appreciate any support and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW (just six more chapters? I'm feeling excited... hopefully everyone else is, too)_

 _P.S: I slightly tweak the story description on impulse literally almost every time I publish a new chapter – I don't know why..._


	45. The Third Day

**The Third Day**

* * *

Lydia snarled.

It was impossible to move out of their eyesight, and every second passing was torture to her mind.

 _She_ was in the Inn. _Speaking_ to him. _Killing_ him.

Lydia doubted Maven would kill Brom – she had given no indication to do that, and she had given Lydia three days to either prove his innocence or come up with an offer – and this was the last day. She didn't know how long she had been assisting with the reconstruction – but found that the Yolin brothers were actively tracking her every move. Every stone block moved, every guard assisted – they notated it all. It would be practically impossible for Lydia to sneak away to the Inn anymore – without a fight at least. But if that was done, she was almost certain Maven would somehow know – and perhaps Brom might not live any longer.

It was a precarious situation – and Lydia had been working fully past the night, the dawn light just beginning to scrape the surface of the horizon. Most of Whiterun seemed restored to its' former glory, buildings repaired and shops well-maintained – even Jarl Balgruuf was beginning delegations in Dragonsreach, seeking to repair the city guard. Slowly, shopkeepers were organizing in their respective buildings – life was being restored, slowly but definitely.

Whiterun however, did not yet have its' characteristic bustle – crowds were not yet forming, and this posed a major problem for Lydia to evade the brothers.

She had slipped by undetected for most of the time – and this, combined with the sleepless night made her all the more anxious to sprint back to the Inn. Lydia had overheard them talking about Maven returning soon – but that had been several hours ago.

"Enough is enough," she whispered, pushing past the gates exiting Whiterun. "Follow me if you want – but you'll all end up dead."

"And he will too," the three voices came in unison behind her, yanking her back as Lydia tried to make it past the steps past the gates. "You _will_ wait longer – or have a better answer to her problem."

Lydia seethed. "Maven herself doesn't care that her precious grand daughter is dead."

The brothers smirked in unison, hands casually but importantly brushing their waists. "Be careful what you say, Dragonborn."

"Are you going to let me see Brom, or not?" Lydia asked flatly. "Please – enough with the mind games. I'll – I'll prove he's innocent! Just – let me see him, please."

"You were free to go from the beginning Dragonborn," the brothers responded. "We are just protection – in case you do something drastic. And sorry for the doppelganger incident – we had to make sure that you wouldn't try to kill our boss."

"I understand why I can't do that," Lydia bit. "Can I go see him – or at least her now?"

The brothers paused for a moment. "Remember – this all falls on you. His fate is in your actions – choose wisely.

 _When I'm done with her, I'm coming back for you all_ , Lydia visualized.

"I'm going," Lydia stated bluntly. "Where is she?"

"In Dragonsreach, of course."

"Perfect."

 **. . .**

She had not been in here for a long time – at least not in a hurried sense.

Dragonsreach was far more active than Whiterun was. The same elegant golden banners that draped the sides of the tall wooden walls were present once more, and the vast stretches of burnt carpeting and wood were replaced with new copies. Most of the men and women populating the Throne Room were closely arranged around Jarl Balgruuf, seated on his newly-repaired throne. Lydia noted with sadness that Irileth was not by his side – but he had not pressed Balgruuf on this, and neither did she inquire about the remains of his family.

But she did try her best to avoid the crowd in the Throne Room.

Balgruuf wouldn't be interested in seeing Lydia right now anyways – and she knew where Maven was, so there was no need to trouble the Jarl. Lydia deftly opened a door to her right, shutting it behind her before making her way down that same staircase – and into _that_ same room.

Lydia walked calmly through the archway.

"Walk carefully, Dragonborn."

She growled. Lydia nearly forgot that the Yolin brothers were following her, the three figures standing politely behind her as Lydia made her way to the center of the room, seeing the figure of interest – seated regally in a chair with a bottle of mead in her hands – with a mixture of hatred and understanding.

"The Chosen One returns," Maven mocked, straightening her long black gown. "It's the last day of my three day ultimatum. What do you have?"

"I'm here to prove Brom's innocence," Lydia immediately stated, trying to remain calm. A single bad move could force her to begin fighting, and Brom would likely end up as a casualty before she could reach him. "But first – tell me what you did yesterday."

Maven raised her hands in exasperation. "Nothing. I spoke to him and tried to get the truth – unfortunate that I had to get you out of the way first – but I knew you'd never let me near him."

"You're a vile, disgusting criminal," Lydia spat. "Does he know that – that you're the one who put him in the position he's in? Do you even understand the reason Alondria was sad was because Brom was kidnapped by your scumbag associates? All for your political bullshit..."

"I don't micromanage my employees," Maven quoted. "Brom's treatment in that cellar was – unfortunate."

Lydia's chest was almost going to explode. "Unfortunate... unfortunate..."

"But in a way, I'm glad it _did_ happen," Maven mentioned. "A fitting punishment for his likely crime."

"Do you have any proof that Alondria actually had feelings for him?"

"The note."

Lydia laughed bitterly. "Maven – you know how teenagers are – filled with emotion. Brom was friends with her, I'm sure – but anything else after that was her own fault."

She cringed at saying this, but knew Maven was coldly logical enough to not care how disrespectfully Lydia spoke of her grand daughter – as long as it was rational and true.

"I am also informed that the pair and another boy did Skooma together," Maven returned, crossing her legs. "Often. It's an illegal substance that causes mind-alterations... perhaps in one of their nights out, he slept with – "

"Impossible," Lydia cut. "There's no proof of that. And Brom wouldn't do that – even under Skooma."

"Skooma has certain aphrodisiac-like effects," Maven noted. "It's quite possible – "

"Why are you even doing this?" Lydia retorted, frustrated with herself. "You're smart enough to know that someone like her was unstable from the beginning. Why – make this _his_ fault?"

Maven shook her head. "I simply need justice for my grand daughter."

Lydia guffawed. "You don't give a _shit_ about your grand daughter. I saw it in your eye – "

An unexpected force to the back of her right leg, forcing her to buckle and get down onto her elbows and knees.

"No need to defend my honor quite yet," Maven addressed to the brothers behind Lydia, arms ready for another punch. "Let her Highness speak her sentence fully.

Lydia stood up harshly. "I know you don't care about your grand daughter. I know you. You wouldn't be doing all this if you didn't have an agenda behind this."

Maven scoffed. "Believe what you wish. It changes nothing – unless you give any proof they were not involved with one another, I will – "

"You will what?" Lydia queried, interested now. "Kill him? Order the murder of a seventeen-year old?"

"I've killed far younger," Maven reminded her. "Stop changing the subject. Do you have any proof that – "

"My interaction with them in your Manor, back in Riften," Lydia sounded off. "I saw her look at him. She was angry at him for breaking and entering the home – _not_ in love."

"And yet Brom knew where she lived," Maven responded. "I know Alondria. She only revealed our address to the closest among us – she didn't even reveal the address to the other boy Keeko, whom she had know for several years before Brom."

"That doesn't prove – "

"The evidence is against Brom – even under that limited, unverifiable interaction you had with them both."

Lydia stopped herself from saying any more. She knew what was happening – and for perhaps the first time in many days, she was completely clear on what was going to happen. She wished there was some amount of time that could be taken so that Brom could see her bid farewell to him – but Lydia doubted Maven would allow that.

She knew what had to be done, despite what it would mean.

"You don't want Brom," Lydia mouthed quietly, turning her gaze to the floor. "You want me."

Maven processed this for a moment, smiling slightly before waving away the brothers. They promptly bowed out and left back up the stairs, leaving Maven and Lydia alone in that room.

Maven stood up, bringing Lydia's downcast face up with a finger. "I don't think I need protection anymore – wouldn't you say?"

Lydia gulped. "I can't kill you. I can't prove Brom is innocent. There's – no way he'll survive – unless..."

Maven grinned. "Unless?"

"Unless I give you what you want."

Maven took a hold of Lydia's palm, shaking it gleefully. "You have finally learned the beauty of predictability."

Lydia pulled her hand away. "Just tell me what I have to do."

"I want to let you know that I don't hate you or him," Maven announced, genuine objectivity flashing across her face. "You – are a magnificent tool for me to use. As I _please_."

"Tell me what you want."

"The beauty of mathematical probability – predictability. Engineering things and people against each other..."

"Tell me what you want."

"I _loved_ every part of it all. The Brotherhood, Ulfric and Tullius, Whiterun, the letter to Riften – "

"Tell me – what you want."

"But a bit ironic at the same time."

"Tell – wait what's ironic?"

Maven bit her lips in amusement. "Your greatest weakness – and consequently, my greatest strength."

Lydia shook her head, just wanting it all to be over. "Stop with the vague answers."

Maven smiled again, walking around Lydia. "Dragonborn – you should know that under _any_ other circumstances, I would have _never_ tried to use you as a pawn in so many of my plans..."

"What?"

"But once I realized that the pawn had a – well – _soft spot_ for another pawn..."

Maven returned to facing Lydia. "Who would have thought that the Dragonborn's biggest weakness would end up being an orphaned stablehand?"

"He's not a weakness," Lydia whispered.

"No?" Maven asked, tilting her head. "You really think _any_ of this would have worked if you didn't have someone attached to you?"

Lydia began a response, but Maven shut her down.

"You're the most powerful warrior in Tamriel," Maven noted with gusto. "You have songs dedicated in your name. You have the whole of Skyrim practically _worshiping_ you... trust me, you were never on my target list – until Brom came along anyway."

Maven moved closer to Lydia, grabbing her face brutally to dig her nails into the skin. "Leverage. A weak point. Your one flaw..."

She shoved Lydia away from her, resuming her speech. "I dreamed of the day when I would be able to call the Dragonborn my employee... and now, that day has come."

Lydia blinked away a tear, staring at Maven with a pleading expression. "But – you'll leave him alone, right? He'll be safe from any Black-Briars – or anything else?"

"That sad little orphan was _never_ of any interest to me," Maven dismissed. "You on the other hand..."

Lydia swallowed. "What – do I sign – something?"

Maven grinned her broadest yet. "Yes – hold on."

She brought out a small dagger, almost non-threatening by appearance. The blade was very dull and the handle looked well-worn – but it was glowing with a bright red aura.

"Give me your hand," Maven demanded.

Lydia complied, extending her forearm as Maven brought the blade close to the skin, relishing the moment.

And she cut.

There wasn't really any pain. Lydia saw a trickle of blood escape the ruptured skin, and withdrew her forearm with confusion.

Maven sheathed the dagger, winking at Lydia with malice.

"Now kneel before me," she commanded.

Lydia felt her back tense up without any will for it. Her knees gave way without her permission – soon, she found herself staring at the floor, and on her knee as Maven chuckled above her.

"An amazing enchantment," Maven slurred. "A bodily control magic... Farengar, the court wizard actually introduced me to it – and it's replaceable!"

Maven yanked Lydia upwards, taking her hand forcefully and shook it.

"We leave for Riften by tomorrow night, and you're coming along," Maven forced. "You will return to me, every night until you die, so I can cut you again with the blade."

Lydia tried to stop it, but her head slowly nodded.

"Good," Maven praised. "Welcome to the Black-Briar family."

 **. . .**

"Welcome to my private quarters."

"Right – it looks great."

Farengar smiled at Brom. "Sorry boy, but we couldn't discuss this matter in the open halls of Dragonsreach – too insecure."

Brom laughed. "Yes – I hear the city's almost ready to begin – well, being a city again."

"Indeed," Farengar noted, urging Brom to take a seat near a table by his bed. "Good thing those savages left my bedroom intact."

Brom peered around. Most of it was standard wizard paraphernalia, but occasionally he would see something of interest – a few drawings of complicated machines, a few pictures of Balgruuf...

"I need to speak of something very – hard to hear."

Brom chuckled. "All right – what? You should know I can't really help with the reconstruction – that's more of Lydia's job."

A noise behind him. Brom swiveled to see the door open, and an aged man with long white robes approached, sitting down on the bed beside Farengar. He recognized the face instantly.

"I know you," Brom muttered. "You're the priest in Riften. The one who told me about Kurdun..."

"Yes, that's the very matter which I came here to discuss," the priest mentioned. "Farengar, do you want to say it?"

The court wizard sighed, unexpectedly taking a hold of Brom's hands and grasped them tightly.

"Brom – Kurdun can be – reactivated by – certain types of interactions with people..."

Brom shook his head, clasping his palms together. "I don't understand."

"Kurdun can be commonly transmitted through eating flesh," the priest broke in. "But – a session of lovemaking can also reinvigorate the disease to become more dangerous than it would be normally..."

Brom coughed, laughing at first at the priest's wording. "Well – that still doesn't apply to me. I haven't met or engaged with any woman in that – erm, way in my entire life..."

Farengar nodded sadly. "Yes, we guessed that. But – your time spent in the cellar of the Warmaiden with those Khajiit..."

A pause. Brom's gaze flew up randomly to the low ceiling, admiring the smooth ridges and bumps in the texture.

"Brom."

He snapped back to reality. "What?"

"I – I'm sorry, Brom," Farengar interrupted, voice low and almost regretful. "Believe me – we don't – relish telling you this. But Jarl Balgruuf forced us to – inform you of your health. He suspected the Dragonborn wouldn't be capable of looking at you in a serious manner after your – incident..."

"No, she did!" Brom yelled, erratically becoming emotional. "She – looked over my body. She – said I was fine..."

"Hold your hand out boy," the priest encouraged. "See your own finger beds."

Brom reluctantly extended the hands, looking at the tips of his fingers with anxiety.

Movement. The skin was vibrating back and forth slowly – but most of the flesh was perfectly fine, colored bright pink with stress perhaps – but it seemed healthy.

"It's moving," Brom noted. "Sort of like when my hands wouldn't stop shaking when I came to you in Riften."

The priest nodded. "That my boy – Kurdun is usually harmless, but it can get reactivated with repeated – lovemaking acts with another creature, and considering the amount of time you spent in that cellar..."

Brom brought his hands to his face, shaking with anxiety. "Okay – okay – okay fine. What – erm, how do I get rid of it?"

The priest looked at Farengar, gulping quietly. "You can't."

Brom let out a burst of air, huffing in defiance. "What – what the hell? What do you mean I can't?"

"At the stage it's at in your body, it can't be contained with fire salts or potatoes," Farengar advised. "It – like the priest said, it's only dangerous if it's reactivated again... and I'm sorry to say it, but the amount of times that they violated you in that cellar – "

"STOP TALKING ABOUT THAT!" Brom roared, standing up abruptly. "WHAT – erm - "

He paused, catching his breath. "Okay... what do I do? How dangerous is it now?"

Brom's mind was rushing too fast for his emotions to catch up. He looked at the priest with desperation.

The old man blinked twice, looking away from Brom. "Well – usually in cases like these – one would see their bones and joints be weakened gradually over time – and then in the final few weeks... your mind would stop working and – "

Brom kept his stare at the priest. "And?"

"Your heart would cease beating," Farengar finished for the priest. "And – well, that only means... death."

Brom sat back down. He brought his fingertips to his eye level, watching the small chunks of flesh dance and move carelessly in the dim light of the cramped room.

"How long does it take to do this?" he quietly asked, feeling a blankness take control of him. "How long before I'm – "

He stopped, unable to continue.

"A year," the priest stated. "Maybe a little more. I've – never seen a case as advanced – as yours."

Brom didn't argue, nor shout. He slipped his hood on, ignoring Farengar's pleas for more talking as he made his way out of the room.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Sad chapter... but there's still five to go! Keep hope..._

 _Just to explain the Lydia section a bit more - she's Maven's servant now, and the prerogative that she gave her forces Lydia to re-enslave herself every night - I tried to go off that entire "blood seal" thing Skryim loves... and they're all planning to go to Riften!_

 _Secondly: so, the idea for Kurdun actually is based on the real-life neurodegenerative disease called Kuru – and you guessed it, it can be transmitted from eating flesh (specifically that which actual cannibals consume) (might have mentioned this in a previous author's note already)_

 _...which brings me to my other major theme of this story: disease!_

 _In a land like Skyrim, with the lack of proper medicine and basic health – disease would be a rampant problem. I'm amazed at how lax this effect is in-game –_

 _You get ataxia?_

 _No problem, just pray at a shrine._

 _You get rockjoint fever?_

 _No problem, just pray at a shrine._

 _You get any disease?_

 _See above advice._

 _That's – not really the way it ought to be, if Skyrim was realistic anyway. Yes, there's nothing realistic about fire-breathing dragons and magical dead zombies – but disease would unquestionably be a major part of death in Skyrim, and I feel it has a pretty big role to play in the story, specfically from this point on. I hope this development doesn't feel weird or stupid – I just felt like after 45 chapters, it's important to hit that point that all developments up to now will tie in together in the final crux of the story..._

 _I've been dropping hints of this happening ever since Brom ate the finger, but I hope it was surprising to most of you. (It's a long story, hopefully everyone remembers the finger part...)_

 _New chapters will likely be supertightly focused, and I hope it ends satisfyingly for everyone reading... (I think it's satisfying anyway – even if you thought the Kurdun part was illogical...)_

 _Skyrim in fantasy world? Yes, fun and exciting._

 _Skyrim in reality? Dangerous and constantly in flux._

 _And that's the point of all of this._

 _As always, I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	46. The Fourth Day (I)

**The Fourth Day (I)**

* * *

He had slept in the room back at the Inn, but most of the night was spent waking up to nightmares and memories from the distant past – Brom never understood what any of those meant.

It was around noon, and Orgnar had been kind enough to provide a bit of food in addition to the lunch Brom had already eaten.

"You seem out of it today," Orgnar advised, taking the plate from Brom, looking around the unmaintained room. "Anything wrong – well, more wrong than usual..."

"No," Brom maintained, waving his hand at the Nord. "Don't worry about it."

Orgnar seemed disappointed, but silently nodded then excused himself from the room. Brom stood up from his bed, old garments still on from the previous night.

He wasn't sure how to keep thinking about things. After he had left Dragonsreach, he had spent several hours aimlessly wandering out Whiterun – no one apparently recognized him (or didn't care), but perhaps a small part of him wished he could find Lydia. She hadn't appeared in nearly two days, and Brom didn't feel any need to go see her. The conversation with Maven was still fresh in his mind – and after talking to Farengar, it didn't seem particularly important to find her anyway.

A little over a year. Would he simply spend it hoveled in this room?

Everything was static in his head. Even as he replayed each word mentally, Brom couldn't understand what was the point of it all.

 _Kurdun._

 _One year._

 _Maybe a bit more._

He felt more like running to an extremely high place and throwing himself off, plummeting to his death. At least that would give the gift of empowerment, and make him feel in control of at least _one_ thing in his life. The past year had been nothing but being dragged across aimlessly, following different dominant forces pervading into his life – and now here he was, again swung into something he never wanted to do. Just like it had been with Skulvar, with Lydia, and in that damned cellar – he never could be afforded a choice. And in all those situations, he had made the same mistake – to simply sit there and absorb the consequences of other people's decisions. So in a certain manner, this revelation had been nothing but another marker in his extremely predictable life story. There was no freedom since the beginning, and everything that had happened only concluded his own intuition from the beginning – that there is no adventure, no glory, and no fame to living as _she_ did. He had been running in endless circles from the beginning, and now at least could look forward to cease running the most inevitable race in Skyrim.

The steady march towards death.

 _Should've been a poet_ , he thought for perhaps the millionth time.

He truly regretted not spending his life in command of anything. It would have been different – perhaps this news would have left him bursting into laughter – if everything had just been a smidge more calculated. Brom found himself fantasizing often of an alternate, imaginary region of space where his more confident doppelganger would reside – and this clone would refuse to obey all the people Brom had so easily fell under, have the experiences Brom wished he could have, and live the life Brom thought was worth living.

Then perhaps, if that clone could receive the news from Farengar and the priest – it would bearable, because he already had a wealth of experiences to look back fondly on, and no regrets in his mind.

But the truth was the opposite. He had been born into anonymity, survived his way through infancy and childhood – and now was enroute to leave it all behind. There were more regrets than experiences, more depression than happiness, and a dearth of people who could possibly care about anything that happened to him.

Brom thought often of going to the priest again, and ask for a different interpretation. This didn't seem logical in the slightest, but it was a useful strategy to keep himself occupied – he knew he would eventually run into Lydia, no matter how busy she was – and this would be the breaking point.

It would be a waste of time to talk to her – especially with a figure as maliciously dishonest as she was. For a glowing second, perhaps in the previous days – he had been sure that she was being truthful with him. Brom even wondered, foolishly even thought of making actual _plans_ for what the both of them would do after Whiterun was reconstructed – but just as she had always faithfully proven, not a single of her words were to be taken seriously.

And that, was more than reason enough to ignore finding her after so much time of not seeing her presence by his bed – and even if she did arrive, it would only give him a reason to walk away.

"Brom."

Perhaps earlier than expected.

"Hi," Brom advanced, seeing Lydia's figure walk gently into the room. "I was just making my way out."

This was a lie, but Lydia for some reason – uncharacteristically didn't seem to catch this. "Really?"

"Yeah," Brom cut short, having no interest in speaking to her for much longer. "How – uh – how's everything in Whiterun?"

She made an expression that Brom couldn't read quite well. "Good. Just – everything's good I suppose."

It was an odd feeling. Brom was certain that she was lying – and Lydia likely knew that Brom was withholding something as well. But neither of them appeared to acknowledge this – instead, preferring to sit in an awkward silence Brom felt like getting out of.

Maven. The sacrifice. Her. Him.

He chuckled. He would have never guessed that she could have been that cruel, that manipulative...

Had all of this started simply because she needed a sheep to slaughter?

"Brom," Lydia broke in, grabbing his arm lightly as he almost brushed past her. "I – just need to tell you something."

He sighed. "Of course you do..."

"I – have to leave Whiterun soon," Lydia spoke, words coming slowly and with little focus. "Tonight. I'm going to Riften – to handle a few things with Maven."

He scoffed, not surprised in the least.

Technically, his mind was surprised, but his intuition was completely unfazed. And besides, with the news from Farengar still fresh in his head, Lydia's words now carried little impact on his decisions from this point on.

"Okay. Fine."

It wasn't being cruel. It wasn't coldness – it was blankness. Apathy. Just like in that cellar.

"And – you can't come, it's sort of sensitive..." Lydia tried, voice hoarse. "I'll be – back in a couple – "

"I know you will," Brom emphasized, keeping his tone as neutral as possible, not believing a single word.

"Don't worry Lydia. I understand."

She knew he was already far gone from reasoning with her. Lydia tried to hold back his arm, voice more tense now.

"Brom, could we talk for a few more minutes?" she tried, trying not to look at him directly. "Please?"

"Yeah, just give me an hour," Brom stated, wrestling his arm away. "I have to go do something – really, I'll be back soon."

This was an almost equally appalling lie. Brom shoved past her, throwing his hood on before stepping out of the Inn. He wouldn't be back in an hour. He didn't even feel like coming back in a week.

Perhaps, he wouldn't come back for a year. And after that point, he could stop caring about coming back.

There wasn't any point in looking back, because he knew she didn't care.

And even if she did, it wouldn't matter to him.

Nothing mattered anymore.

He was free – in a way, finally free...

Brom pushed open the heavy door, feeling warm sunlight wash across his face. It all seemed a bit gratuitious now, with the perfect weather and steady, happy crowd in Riverwood – none of it appeared to carry any weight.

He looked around, seeing a few faces that he had recognized, and some he didn't. Brom wondered whether he could talk to any of them – not because of any need for consolation, but more because he was now left with the problem of time.

 _A year. Maybe a little more._

Maybe he could follow the dirt trail away from Riverwood.

Maybe he could keep walking until he reached the massive mountain just visible above the horizon, an old temple sitting peacefully on top of it.

 _Bleak Falls Barrow_ , he had overheard.

Perhaps he could jump off. That would make everything a lot quicker for him.

"Kinsman!"

Brom's body instinctively reacted to it, but his mind took much longer to process what was happening.

"It's been so long since I have seen you kinsman!" the Nord guard bellowed, trademark belly heaving in effort as he nearly crushed Brom to his sides. "Nords of the world, unite!"

Brom rubbed at his sore chest, removing his head before staring back into that face he had nearly forgotten. He felt a simultaneous need to laugh and talk in hysterics.

"So, what brings you to this small village kinsman?" the guard asked. "You seem older than the last time I saw you. Here to see all the pretty Nord women? The finest women in Skyrim..."

Brom felt almost like he was reading some book – he practically foresaw every single word the Nord guard said.

"No," he responded, casually glancing at the mountain again. "Just going to take a walk."

"Ah!" the guard went on. "Where to?"

Brom chuckled, recalling the thoughts going across his head in the past few hours. "I don't know."

"Good," the guard spoke, voice deep and loud. "Attack life's plans with gusto, and attack with the heart of a true Nord! Bold, relentless, fierce and unplanned – like those Khajiit scum with Maven..."

Brom shuddered, annoyed. "Right."

A quick pause. He turned back to the Nord guard. "Wait – what did you say?"

"Attack life's plan with gusto?"

"No, after that."

"Bold, relentless, - "

"No! After..."

"Khajiit scum?"

Brom stopped, trying to recalling the exact words. "And you said with – Maven. What does that mean?"

The guard scoffed in a derogatory manner. "But of course! Her most loyal and faithful employees..."

Brom narrowed his eyes, momentarily forgetting about what Farengar said to him. "How do you know that?"

"I saw her talking to them a few months back, when I was stationed in Falkreath," the guard proclaimed happily. "They were in some old, expensive Manor – and I was eavesdropping, as most people do when a Black-Briar is talking with someone..."

"And what did she say?"

The guard appeared offended. "Kinsman! Why do you – "

"I need to know, for the sake of all Nords," Brom attempted, satisfied to see the man smile. "Please."

"She was simply paying them," the guard mentioned. "Talking about rewarding them for their good service – mentioned Whiterun somewhere too... but I don't quite recall the rest..."

Brom stopped, just realizing that he had a much better alternative than going up to the Barrow and jump off.

 **. . .**

"Give me your hand."

Lydia tried to fight off the urge, staring the ceiling of the dungeon of Dragonsreach to preoccupy herself – but still, the forearm reluctantly extended itself.

A cut. A trickle of blood. She felt that same sense of powerlessness sweep through her.

"Good," Maven noted, taking a seat. "You may sit down Lydia."

She did as commanded, but tilted her head to one side at the usage of her name. Maven understood her confusion immediately.

"Ah, well since you're an employee now, we can do away with titles," Maven explained. "But on a more important matter – did you enjoy your final chat with Brom? Have you told him about you leaving for Riften tomorrow night?"

Lydia gasped, tears forming immediately. "I – I couldn't. He hates me. He doesn't want to even talk to me anymore..."

"Understandable, considering how poor of a friend you were," Maven noted. "Or – what else? A close friend? A companion? I shall never understand what he meant to you... but no matter."

Lydia gulped, turning her head down. "Thank you – for letting me see him. For the last time – it was... merciful."

Maven smiled. "It was the least I could do – I'm impartial and fair about those things... and I want you to know that just because you're working for me won't mean your life will change drastically – you'll just begin fighting who I want you to fight, and killing whom I want to kill..."

Maven shuddered, pulling her long scarf closer as she waved – the Yolin brothers had just appeared behind Lydia.

"You will address me as Master from now on," Maven emphasized to Lydia. "And I want you to help me on something – a training issue of mine."

Lydia wanted to break off her own jaw, but the reply came promptly. "Yes Master."

"You see, the Brothers need training in close combat," Maven recalled. "Lydia – please stand in the center, arms at your sides no matter what – until I tell you to stop. Keep quiet."

Lydia did as commanded, watching Maven move around the small chairs to make more space in the center of the room. The brothers circled around Lydia, two of them with swords and the tallest one with a warhammer. Lydia wondered what useless weapon Maven would give to her.

"Proceed," Maven commanded.

A splitting sensation, flesh crumpling underneath a sharp blade. The first brother had extended the sword forward, going straight through Lydia's abdomen. Blood immediately began leaking. Lydia was panting for air, unable to move her arms to stem the flow of liquid.

"Again," came the smooth demand.

Another piercing sensation – but this time across her back, tearing across the span of her garment and skin.

A streak of blood again. Lydia looked at Maven, pleading with her eyes to make it end.

"Again."

A forceful blow – right across her cheekbones. The tallest brother had swung as hard as he could. Lydia crumpled immediately, kneeling with her arms still locked to her sides. At least five areas of her body and face were swelling up.

"Now heal yourself."

Lydia gasped, unable to talk. Her arms moved accordingly, casting a spell that bathed her golden light. The injuries healed in quick fashion.

A few seconds of this. Maven winked at Lydia.

"Stand up."

Lydia shakily got up, closing her eyes.

"Again. Harder this time – those injuries healed too quickly."

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Depressing..._

 _Shortish chapter, but... four chapters to go! So much near the end... keep the hopes up! Don't really have much else to say, hope everything's explanatory._

 _I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_

 _P.S: Hope everyone understands the recent chapter titles and timescale – the last few chapters have been over the course of four days, including the next one (hint)..._


	47. The Fourth Day (II)

**The Fourth Day (II)**

* * *

"It's over, is it?"

"Yes."

Balgruuf stared back at her, pity in his eyes. "I'm sorry to hear all that Lydia – really, I am. You should have told me – "

"There's nothing you, or anyone could have done," Lydia mentioned, bruises still hurting despite being fully "healed".

She looked around, admiring the patrons of the Inn as they drunk mead and began singing merry songs.

"So it'll be by tomorrow night then?" Balgruuf queried. "You're just – going to be gone?"

Lydia nodded, keeping her face low to maintain unrecognizability. She adjusted herself on the stool, not even a glass of mead in her hand.

"You know what always annoyed me?" she spoke out.

Balgruuf shook his head. "No. What?"

"Look at those bards, singing those songs."

Balgruuf obeyed, seeing a nearby bard singing with gusto as the patrons cheered and applauded.

"So?"

"They _always_ sing about dragons and magical horses and Ragnar the Asshole..." Lydia mentioned. "Idiots. As if that's all life is about..."

"What should they be singing about instead?" Balgruuf asked, laying an arm over her bruised but covered back. "It's Ragnar the Red by the way."

"Other things," Lydia vaguely answered. "Meeting people. Talking to them. Holding them. Loving others... dying. Leaving. Feeling things..."

Balgruuf stayed quiet. Lydia wished he would say something.

"He'll be safe, you do know that right?" Balgruuf answered, keeping his words just quiet enough so that anyone else beside her couldn't hear. "In this city. I'll make sure of it."

"I know he'll be fine," Lydia added hastily. "He's better than me in everything. He's – he's going to be great. I won't."

Balgruuf nodded his head. "At least you said goodbye, right? Have some memories..."

Lydia felt that usual sense of powerlessness overtake her – and once again, her body was compelled to leave and return to Dragonsreach, where Maven was awaiting with that same, stupid dagger.

She could fight it off for mere seconds. Lydia grabbed Balgruuf, looking at him with more intensity than she could have ever mustered in her life.

"Promise me you'll make the bards sing new songs," Lydia noted, gulping as the enchantment grew in strength. "Promise me – please. Please..."

Balgruuf hastily hugged her. "I will. I will. Lydia, can you hold off the enchantment for just a little longer?"

Lydia tried, but she couldn't – walking out of the Inn without even looking back. She didn't want to see his face.

Saddened.

Hopeful.

Regretful.

Despairing.

 **. . .**

He was there again. _Home._

Used to be home.

Brom was at the Stables – only for a moment. He had initially thought of marching to Dragonsreach and begin talking to Maven, but wanted to spend the time, even if it was just for a second... looking at the night sky.

Coming here meant memories for him. He noticed that Skulvar's home – usually situated ride beside the Stables – had been abandoned. It was almost destroyed, and Brom wasn't sure whether this was because of the Khajiit or something Skulvar's family did to the house before it all happened.

But he was far from this, sitting on the roof of the stables while tracking the movements of clouds and stars ahead.

The clouds were faster. They were thick and impetuous, traveling across the sky with a defiant refusal of acknowledging where they were heading. Brom knew that at the edge of the horizon, just past the aurora now shining brightly from the top of his vision – the clouds would dissipate and rot, but they didn't seem to care about that.

Nothing seemed to care – even if they were all going to be vapor soon.

The stars were different. The clouds would often pack around the stars, move from place to place with a more rampant, fiery enthusiasm – Brom wondered whether it was because of the stars itself, or because of the clouds were merely seeking to be attracted to anything that would distact them from their meaningless existence.

"I'm stalling..." Brom told himself, feeling a breeze slowly start up. "Stalling..."

He looked at Dragonsreach, then back at the stars. Brom shut his eyes and remembered everything, from start to finish. He pulled out a small iron dagger, examining the blade with interest.

He wasn't sure how sharp it was. He had never learned past that initial technique Lydia had shown him so many months ago – but he pressed it lightly to his own flesh, feeling pain and removed it just before the skin tore.

He jumped down, landing softly on the stone trail leading into Whiterun.

Brom walked carefully, following the trail to the gates. He had been informed from the nationalist Nord that Maven was staying in Dragonsreach for the time, but had not known how many people would be present with her.

But that didn't matter. In either scenario – he would either immediately die or die much later. It mattered very little to him at this time.

He already reached the gates. Brom noted the two guards nodding their heads slowly at him. Whiterun was ready.

He moved inside the city, immediately beginning the walk to Dragonsreach.

There were a large number of people – far more than he had ever imagined going through Whiterun. A great proportion of them were celebrating with delight, as Brom predicted why – some were happily rejoicing with their families, and some were focused on trying to restore their shops functionality, inviting clients over.

Brom ignored all of this.

He was at the central marketplace now, watching more people. A fair number of guards were collecting here too – some out of uniform, some in armor... Brom had to guess that today would be used as a day of celebration, as a gift to the citizens who remained alive and healthy duing the Khajiit occupation. Much of Brom's vision was also focused on a few key figures in the central marketplace, notably Farengar and Jarl Balgruuf himself – either of them didn't notice Brom, already surrounded by a small crowd of citizens who were gleefully talking amongst themselves.

For a second, his mind urged him to find Lydia somehow – but this instinct was quickly shut down. As he had thought about it before – the outcome of this didn't matter to him.

He was at the stairway – in the courtyard. Brom remembered how many times he had waited in line to meet Lydia alll those months ago – hours spent waiting in line.

But that wasn't important now.

"Halt! You may not enter Dragonsreach without approval!"

 _I'm already here?_ Brom thought. _Damn._

"I have to meet the priest to discuss an important issue," Brom sounded off, addressing the guards blocking the twin doors. "It's about an illness."

This surprisingly worked – and they opened the door. Brom walked in, hearing the wood shut firmly behind him.

He looked around.

Dragonsreach was bare of course, without Jarl Balgruuf. Not even a single housecarl was there to maintain order, and there didn't appear to be any silverware at the tables. Everyone had to be celebrating in the center of Whiterun of course, but Brom also knew that Maven was not the type to go out and needlessly expose herself to the public – she was introverted, as far as he could have hoped.

Brom quickly made his way to the staircase, walking down the long flight of steps before seeing that archway.

 _That_ archway. The same one he had remembered a year ago.

"Come in, Brom."

He heard the smoothness of the voice, but didn't expect it to be so sudden. Evidently, Maven had guessed his presence from the second he had started walking down the steps.

"Thank you," Brom readied, feeling the iron dagger pad against his waist, still concealed by his coat. "Can I take a seat?"

"Yes, you may," Maven agreed, already seated on a small chair near Brom. "Don't mind the blood on the floor – I'll have someone clean it up later. Might be expecting a special guest over in a few minutes as well..."

Brom just noticed what she was talking about, as he stepped over small puddles of red liquid. He sat down near Maven, separated by a small table.

Just as it had been with Lydia back then.

"So, do you have any further information about your involvement with Alondria?" Maven quickly attempted, steepling her fingers. "Do you want to see the note again?"

Brom tilted his head to the side, lost in thought. He didn't know what to feel about Maven – there was no anger nor loathing, but certainly not sympathy or compassion – and weirdly, not even blankness or apathy. What he felt more was a distinct, tired nature to staring at her – as if just being around her was driving him weary. Notably, Brom couldn't see any of her hired goons around to protect her. And she was a frail old woman...

"Brom?" Maven tried again, smile broad and genuine. "I – I realize how troubled you are by this information, but I need to ascertain your involvement with the crime!"

This meant nothing to him. Brom turned his gaze down to his waist, shutting his eyes.

"I am leaving Whiterun by tomorrow night, despite what Lydia would have told you," Maven described. "And she and I have business to tend to – so please hurry up with your explanation or confession."

Brom stood up, resolute. Maven was watching him with amusement, but his voice was down to a whisper. It wasn't inherently menacing or mysterious, but quiet and morose.

"Do you know how it felt?"

Maven blinked, uncertain. "How what felt?"

Brom stared back at her, expressionless. "You know. At least admit that."

Maven smiled back, waving her hands in the air in sarcasm. "Know what, my dear boy?"

 _Dear boy._

 _Dear._

 _Boy._

He wasn't treated like that in the cellar. He lunged forward, bending his wrist forward, letting the dagger slip into his palm. He closed his eyes and pushed as hard as he could.

 _Snrich._

He fell as well – on top of her, forcing her to tumble off her chair. His hand was still gripped to the dagger, now wedged into Maven's heaving chest. She was trying to say something, but he covered her mouth with his free hand.

"I want you to know how it felt," Brom mouted, letting all the memories suppressed for so long hit him back. "Just one day."

He removed the dagger, then shoved it in deeper.

A spurt of blood. Maven coughed onto Brom – dust being caught up in her nostrils with the mixture of blood and fear.

"Every day, they'd bring a lantern," Brom noted, twisting the dagger in the flesh. "And they'd smile at me. And I would – take off _everything_ for them..."

He withdrew the dagger, and pushed it in again. Maven was breathing slower than he was talking.

"They laughed while they _did_ it," Brom spat. "They made jokes. They called me their wife. They dug their nails into every inch of skin I had..."

He ripped the dagger from her, picking a new spot before cutting savagely – withour range or accuracy before sticking it back into the wrinked flesh.

"They put things in me," Brom let out, voice choking itself. "They ripped things out of me. They took every piece of soul I had and took it away, dirtied it – dragged it through the mud before killing it..."

He began cutting through the skin, dragging his dagger upward as Maven weakly slapped at his arms.

"They took things from me I didn't know I could lose," Brom mentioned, still reliving memories in his head with his eyes shut. "They took me. Again. And again."

He withdrew and pushed the dagger harder this time.

"And again."

More pressure.

"And again."

More pressure.

"And again."

More pressure.

"Even when I asked them not to."

More.

"Even after I begged for death."

More.

"Even after I submitted."

More.

"Even after I was gone."

Maven was clutching at her assorted stab wounds as Brom lightened his grip on her, backing away slightly to shift to her side rather than holding her down with his weight.

"This – is – not logical," Maven noted, staring at Brom with confusion. "You – the cowardly beggar you are – this cannot be happening... you're a coward and a weakling who dragged her down... the Black-Briars and Skyrim will kill you for this..."

Brom smiled. "They already did. Don't worry."

He ignored the dagger still in her chest, using his hands to grasp at Maven's throat. With efficiency, he pressed.

Harder. Then harder. And harder still.

Maven stopped moving. A voice came immediately from behind him, and Brom recognized it instantly.

"Brom?"

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Goodbye Maven! At long last... couldn't have anyone else do it, honestly._

 _Brom, in my opinion - was the only character fitting to deal with Maven like that. I also chose this because I really wanted to avoid the perspective that Brom was essentially useless in the entire story, just tagging around with Lydia when in reality, he influenced pretty much every decision, even fought off a couple of bad guys, and got the both of them in/out of all the conflicts in the story._

 _But still three chapters to go. My excitement for writing honestly grows every day – and interestingly, I think I have a couple of surprises coming up that people will like. (and I like, obviously)_

 _One thing that I regret not doing is using more metaphors and allegorical references (hint: the beginning of the Brom section of this chapter) – I think it would have helped accentuate a couple of themes in the story much better, and I just like the way it sounds when read... so I regret not utilizing that technique earlier on – not too much, but just a little._

 _I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_

 _P.S: Yes, we **all** know who that was at the end of the chapter. _


	48. Cabbages, Werewolves, and Black-Briars

**Cabbages, Werewolves, and Black-Briars**

* * *

"Brom?"

"I heard you."

"I know."

He sat there for a while, staring at the massive ceiling with a bit of cathartic joy. It was satisfying, in some eerie way – to see Maven on the floor, bleeding heavily as her corpse was examined by Lydia. Brom watched her thread her fingers around the hilt of the dagger still inside Maven – then nodded at her as she frowned at him.

"You knew," Lydia softly let out.

Brom kept a lazy stare on the dagger. "Yes – I did. You did too."

Lydia kicked the corpse for a second, taking a seat next to Brom. Her voice was soft, as per usual when events like this occurred – but there was also a bit of pride, a sliver of relief – and something else Brom couldn't quite describe.

"I'm sorry," Lydia spoke, dragging out the syllables. "I lie – a lot. Often without an excuse."

"I don't care," Brom fired back, still staring at the dagger. "By the way – I have Kurdun."

Lydia raised her brows. "What?"

Brom shook his head. "The priest told me I have a year. Maybe a little more."

He didn't know what to expect from saying this – he wasn't even sure why he said it... it mattered little now what she thought of anything Brom said to her.

Lydia didn't appear to believe this fully on the first attempt. "I don't understand Brom."

"Yes you do," Brom whispered back, fed up with talking to her. "You're right – you do lie a lot."

This didn't faze her. Lydia kept staring at him with a heightened expression, almost as if she was detecting things in his mind that he was trying to keep private.

"I'm not sure if this is a joke or not..." she tried, anxiety taking hold. "... if this is revenge for all the shit that I put you through, then – "

Brom smiled at her knowingly, immediately making her stop talking.

They sat there – as long as they wanted – in the silence. Maven's blood was beginning to circle around her body, going around the hard stone floor – reflecting most of the light from the one lantern swinging above them. Both Lydia and Brom remained fixated on the dagger, still embedded in Maven before flocking to the purple marks left on her neck. Lydia pursed her lips at this, just realizing the true cause of Maven's death.

Gently, her arm looped itself around his neck and shoulders. She didn't do anymore than that, and Brom appeared to be grateful for this.

"Can I get closer?" she asked.

Brom chuckled, leaning his head onto her collarbone as her arm fully wrapped around him.

Lydia's smile was distinct this time – genuine and pleasantly surprised. Evidently, she had expected him to kick her out of the room as soon as possible.

"You know Skyrim will come for you," she whispered, letting her head lean against his. "Every Black-Briar. Every guard. Every single man or woman who thought Maven was _helping_ them..."

"Why did you pick us?"

Lydia shook her head. "What?"

Brom turned his head up at her, inquiry burning through his emotions. "Why Skulvar and I? Did – did we really seem to be a good – sacrifice for Boethia?"

Lydia sighed. "You know about that too..."

"Lydia."

"I didn't pick you both, remember?" she went on. "I thought about it when you came in – an orphan that no one would remember, a stablemaster everyone hated... it – made sense."

"And you didn't go through with it," Brom finished. "Why?"

Lydia tried to remember, purging across a few thoughts. "I don't know – something about you, something about the fact that you were so young – I never could bring myself to do it."

"I see..."

"Then I found that idiot Ulundil," Lydia recalled, smirking gently. "Don't mind him dying to be honest..."

"Yet you still let us follow you both," Brom noted. "You – I don't think you should have listened to me when I said I wanted to do it for Skulvar..."

"I suspected that," Lydia immediately forwarded. "The day we met in Whiterun, I could tell who you really were."

Brom raised his brows. "Really?"

She tightened her grip around him. "Everywhere I went – there was just this... generic mass of people, all identical... all worshipping me constantly. Then I saw a boy – with two fucking cabbages..."

He smiled.

"... underneath his arms. And he didn't give a shit about me, and when I pulled him aside to talk – he made it clear he _still_ didn't give a shit about me."

"It was never out of disrespect," Brom advised. "I just – didn't feel like talking to you."

"You treated me as if I was just Lydia," she mentioned. "Not the Dragonborn. And that – drew me, to you – in some way I guess."

"And you've been trying to get rid of me ever since."

Lydia frowned. "I knew it was a bad decision – the second we got attacked by the giant near the Greensprings..."

"And Frostfruit Inn – "

"I'm not going to lie – I've wanted you gone plenty of times," Lydia stated bluntly, staring into Brom's eyes. "It's not any of your fault – it's just that I was so stupid, to think for a second that I may get a chance at a normal life..."

Brom frowned, understanding the authenticity behind this.

"And with all the werewolves and the Brotherood, not to mention _this_ scumbag..." Lydia kicked at Maven's immobile leg. "... you should have never been with me, Brom. From the beginning – we both made a serious mistake, that took the lives of people around us as well... and now – you're paying for it too..."

She stopped, sniffling slightly before holding a hand to her eyes. She almost felt hateful towards herself, and Brom didn't feel like breaking this state – it wasn't that he had a habitual loathing for her anymore, but also understood that what Lydia said was logically correct.

"It doesn't matter now," Brom emphasized, nudging her softly with his head. "What's done is done."

"You can't say that," Lydia ran across, shaking her head. "Maybe we can talk to the priest again? See if there's anything we can – "

"It's progressive, Lydia," Brom noted. "Doesn't matter what we do. I – I actually was okay with dying right here – maybe one of Maven's goons could end it all for me – but sadly, that didn't happen."

"You wanted to die?"

"No – but – maybe... I wouldn't mind it."

Lydia shut her eyes. "This is all my fault..."

"Yeah – pretty much."

Lydia smiled sarcastically. "Brom – are you being serious about the Kurdun?"

He nodded slowly, waiting for the inevitable sigh and Lydia proceeded to further bury herself into her own chest.

"I – am such an – idiot..." she groaned. "I – damn it all..."

"You're taking this harder than me," Brom whispered, grinning sorrowfully. "Do you have it too? Did I transmit it to you last time you saw me? Because as you know – Kurdun can be transmitted sexua – "

"Shut up," Lydia urged, shaking Brom. "Stop with the wisecracks. Please."

Brom threw his arms up into the air. "Well – what else am I supposed to do?"

"We can search for a cure! I know a couple of healers who – "

"Right."

"Brom!"

"Lydia – just – stop."

And she did. The silence that proceeded was shorter than the first, but it felt longer – mostly because Brom re-analyzed every word she said to him. Lydia of course made no more effort to talk about his condition – at least until he would push for it, that is.

He wasn't feeling as afraid as he used to after he heard the news from Farengar. Whether this was due to Lydia or Maven being dead (or both), Brom didn't know – but he was certain that the fear was absent, and replaced with a sort of bored longingness.

 _That_ feeling had went away as soon as Lydia entered the room.

"What are you going to do?" she asked slowly, running a hand through his hair.

"I don't know," came the prompt answer.

Brom didn't know – and even if he did, he doubted it would help ease the time he had left. Most of the time he speculated about traveling – some of the time he speculated over simply killing himself early.

"You proved it," Lydia stated. "You – proved her wrong. Maven never saw you coming. She – underestimated you."

"That was the only way I could control things," Brom responded. "For once in my life – I felt in control. Killing that – piece of – "

He kicked Maven's leg again, anger welling up briefly before subsiding.

"I'll probably travel somewhere far away, leave Skyrim for good," Brom broke in. "See the world! Brom Ven, the traveler..."

"I'll go too."

Brom chortled. "Funny."

Lydia shook her head. "What? What's wrong with that?"

"I know you don't like mentioning it, but you're the Dragonborn," Brom informed, earning her frown. "You have things to do. Not – "

"Fuck being the Dragonborn."

Brom turned his head towards her dramatically. "Uh – "

"You heard me."

"Lydia don't be crazy," Brom cut. "You have a title. You have to – "

"You want to know what I learned?" Lydia interjected. "You want to know what ten years of being the Dragonborn has taught me?"

Brom nodded.

"It taught me that the world _can't_ be saved by one person," Lydia flatly asserted. "No matter what I do – enemies, those who want to fight against us – will _always, always_ exist."

Brom understood this – he had first hand experience. Lydia continued.

"It's just the way the world works," Lydia claimed. "Conflict is inevitable."

"So what will people do without you?"

"The world will be fine," Lydia asserted. "It was fine before I got there – and frankly, it's still fine as I'm here now. And it'll be fine after I leave – that's just the way things are. No one person is powerful enough to – do anything significant, in the big scheme of things. It takes _everyone_ to change for – "

"Okay okay enough – getting boring."

She smiled.

"Now, where do you want to travel to?"

Brom sighed. "Lydia – I want to make sure you're not doing this out of guilt, that you're – "

"I'm doing it because you mean a lot – to me."

"I never figured that out," Brom mentioned, a bit of cheeriness shining now. "What are we? Friends? Companions? Surrogate siblings?"

"I'd probably be an older sister," Lydia guessed. "You'd be the annoying younger brother who wet the bed."

"Oh shut up."

"So – where to?"

He paused. "You're – serious? Just quit being the Dragonborn? You can do that?"

She smiled again. "I can do whatever the hell I want."

Brom shook his head at her disapprovingly. "People will grieve – they'll look for – "

"Don't care," Lydia ignored, twirling his hair in boredom. "So – first place to go to?"

Brom stuttered. "Um – I don't know. Let's just leave – Skyrim?"

"Go off the map," Lydia recognized. "Good... I'd like to leave this entire damn place too – might have a cool way to get out of here too."

Brom raised his brows. "What do you mean?"

Lydia smiled, pursing her lips. "You'll see. Don't worry – but Brom – is it okay if I say goodbye to someone first?"

He scoffed. "The Dragonborn – asking me for permission to do something?"

She remained silent, waiting for his answer.

"That's fine with me," Brom responded. "Tell whoever you want – I mean, leaving until – uh... Lydia, when the time comes and I'm – gone, what will you do?"

"I don't care," she swiftly answered. "Certainly not go back to being the Dragonborn..."

"But – what will you do after a year?"

"I'll figure it out when it gets to that point."

"And when the time comes, when I start to – erm, break down," Brom mentioned, keeping his voice low. "You'll – you'll be there, right?"

She pulled him into her chest.

"Always."

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Yay!_

 _So I thought this was a good chapter to sort of recall and process all the events that have happened in the story thus far – and sort of highlight the reasons for everything and tie any loose ends. Granted, there's still two chapters to go but everything's beginning to wind up..._

 _I hope the grief over Brom's condition was handled well. Initial chapters had every stressful event sort of reduce Brom and Lydia to weeping, hugging fanatics (exaggeration) - and I wanted to make them both feel more mature now - that they can process grief better... hence why there's less of a stress on Brom's condition now. I also wanted to tie together how from the very beginning - everything worked out badly for Brom - from the chain of events in Whiterun to Frostfruit to Riften and Maven/Khajiit - and now Kurdun. So that was addressed too._

 _Another point I wanted to drive home was the core of their relationship – founded on mutual interest, loathing, apathy, and finally – affection. I just viewed the very first chapter a while ago, and compared to how the two interact now – I'm pretty proud of how they've evolved (or how I've written them to evolve)_

 _But enough patting myself on the back. Hope everyone's enjoying the ride so far – and the ride ahead. (still a couple surprises up my sleeve)_

 _As always, I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!_

 _~TW_


	49. Stars of Leather and Ebony

**Stars of Leather and Ebony**

* * *

Jorrvaskr was an enormous den – and it was filled often with people and strangers who seldom knew each other, but were bonded by the blood pact made underneath the cave of staircases leading up to Dragonsreach. The individuals in question were very powerful, and skilled at combat, instantly recognizing each other's skills – but most of the people were kind to each other. In fact, the Companions Guild was more of a family than a pact of warriors – and in some cases there were multiple individuals who were higher-ranking than others.

However, the main room itself was strangely unoccupied – solely except for a pair of women looking slowly at each other, seated in a center table with only a lantern flickering between them. One of the women had only just arrived, and the other viewed the new arrival with cautious anticipation – and a sort of guarded personality.

"Everyone's out celebrating then?" Lydia asked, addressing the person who she had been seeking for so long, dressed in a single white cloak, hem repeatedly restitched – not out of disuse, but rather sentiment for the cloth.

The woman seated across from her nodded gleefully. "Yes they are."

Lydia gasped. "Egvir – you – you can talk now?"

Egvir nodded slowly. "Yes I can – but first – how did you find me?"

"Answer my question first."

"A healer. Now – how did you find me?"

Lydia smiled. "Bok – gave me a piece of paper in Riften that had your address."

Egvir shook her head. "Wait – Bok is alive? I thought – "

"I thought that too," Lydia continued. "Very much alive – and retired, in Riften."

"Really?" Egvir continued. "Really..."

"I heard from him that you're married now?" Lydia asked, shaking the massive Nord woman's shoulders with happiness. "Congratulations!"

Egvir was tense, but allowed herself to relax gently. "Thanks – Lydia, to be honest – I was hoping you wouldn't find me."

Lydia sighed. "I know. I know – don't worry. I'm not here for you – I'm just here to tell you that you're right."

Egvir laughed. "About what?"

"About your choice," Lydia spoke, stressing each word. "You were – right to escape the warrior's life and get married – settle down."

Egvir nodded in appreciation.

"And you were – right in assuming that I was a terrible friend."

"Lydia you weren't – "

"I was, no I was..." Lydia forced, waving away her complaints. "Even if you didn't think so."

Egvir nodded. "So – that's it? Just came to thank me?"

Lydia stood up, extending her palm to Egvir – who gracefully stood up as well, accepting.

"Stay out of any warrior business," Lydia emphasized. "The world can save itself."

Egvir chuckled, keeping the grip on Lydia's palm for a few more seconds. Lydia was the first to withdraw her hand, walking slowly to the doors exiting Jorrvaskr.

"Lydia! Wait!"

She turned back for a moment, smiling gently at Egvir.

"Maybe you can come around later and we can have a proper chat," Egvir described, enthusiastic. "Maybe we can have lunch together."

Lydia smiled back, nodding as softly as she could.

 **. . .**

Brom gasped, slowly stretching out all the cricks in his back in the Throne Room of Dragonsreach. Lydia was alongside him, watching him twist about in vain – occasionally stepping in to straighten his hood, or perhaps playfully punch him in the shoulders.

It was still night, and Dragonsreach was empty. Brom turned to Lydia.

"How weird, eh?" Brom mentioned. "We leave on the night Whiterun celebrates being restored? Did you see your friend?"

Lydia nodded, grinning at him. "Follow me."

Brom chuckled, mirroring her path and made his way to the wide doors leading outside of Dragonsreach.

Lydia shoved open the doors, smiling as yet another breeze floated nearby while she hastily dismissed the two guards at the gates – advising them to leave and join in the festivities. Brom watched the two figures pause and rejoice for a moment, sprinting down the steps to join the others in absolute happiness. Lydia chuckled a bit, watching them immediately submerge themselves into the crowd and strip off their heavy helmets – ready to spend at least one day in perfect peace.

"You sure you just want to talk to one person?" Brom asked, admiring the crowd in the central area of Whiterun. "Shouldn't you let more loved ones know that – well, you're – "

"You're my loved one," Lydia fired back, lightly planting a kiss on Brom's cheek – forcing him to bat her face away. "Oh, stop it with the machismo. You just killed a Black-Briar – that makes you a manly man, don't worry."

Brom scoffed. "Well – so I was thinking about going off the map."

Lydia paused, pulling out a scroll of paper before unfurling it. "I know – but what do you mean?"

Brom walked over, squinting at seeing the tiny lines made in the now faded paper. There were several regions, the usual places such as _Falkreath, Markarth, Whiterun..._ but the map ended any description past some untitled mine south of Windhelm – and after this, Lydia's map went grey and lacked texture.

"Let's head here," Brom pointed out, touching the center of the grey patch beyond the mine. "It's the closest path to leave Skyrim's borders..."

"You're really serious about this?" Lydia asked again, furrowing her brow. "You really want to leave Skyrim?"

Brom sighed. "Lydia, if you don't want to come – "

She shut his mouth forcefully with a hand, speaking well above him. "Shut – it. You ask me if I want to come again and I'll kiss you till – "

"Fuck off."

Lydia giggled, reposturing herself. "Anyway – ready to go?"

Brom raised a brow. "How? I thought we would get out of the city first before – "

"Not quite," Lydia interrupted, gesturing towards the sky. "Look."

Brom focused his gaze, and let his mouth drop fully open.

A black mass, coiling tightly in the night sky dotted with stars and an aurora – but still somehow overpowered them all. The figure was flying, and was enormous even from Brom's distance at viewing it – it had two purple wings, flapping gleefully with the cold wind. Its head roared with anticipation, with a focused pair of eyes zooming in on Brom and Lydia.

"Holy – what – Lydia – ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"

She smiled at him, shaking him with an arm around his shoulders. Brom continued his loud declaration.

"LYDIA – A FUCKING – DRAGON!?"

The enormous beast landed squarely near Brom, just having enough space in the back courtyard of Dragonsreach to let its massive paws touch the ground with a light thud – a far quieter noise than Brom had expected.

"I can only use the summoning Shout once," Lydia informed him. "Was saving it for nearly four years – but now..."

Brom couldn't hear her. He was busy caught up, admiring the beauty of the creature – he had never seen one in-person before. There was – a destructive aesthetic to it, in the symmstry of its set of teeth, the kindness but aggressive nature of its eyes – counterbalanced by thick, dense scales covering its trunk, legs and tail – but it was restrained, obeying Lydia, and Lydia alone.

"Get on then," Lydia cooed, but chuckled as she realized Brom was already on top of the beast, right on its neck as the dragon twisted gently in the wind.

"LYDIA! COME ON!"

Lydia smiled, gently stepping on the beast's hind foot before jumping neatly on top, seated behind Brom. She removed a thick fabric of cloth from her back, unfolding it to wrap it neatly around both of their forms.

"What's this for?" Brom immediately asked, nonetheless relaxing into the warm cloth. "Is it going to be cold?"

Lydia nodded. "Soon."

Brom watched her mutter some words in Dragon tongue – but couldn't hear the rest, as the incredible beast had already launched off. Brom was nearly thrown off by the sheer weight, but Lydia had held him back.

They were soaring into the air. Most of the clouds were already just a few feet away from him – the speed of the entire thing was incredible. Brom turned back to the city, the home he had called his own for nearly three years – and soon, despite the celebration, despite the festivities and massive crowd he knew was congregating inside – Whiterun, the self-proclaimed pride of Skyrim, was reduced to nothing more than a dim dot in the farthest reach of his vision.

 **. . .**

She told him that she hadn't given the dragon a name yet.

He wasn't sure how long they had been flying, but he didn't care. He felt oddly warm underneath the heavy blanket, and was already tired enough to begin resting his head on her chest. He had checked the map several hours ago, and they didn't appear to be in any recognizable area of Skyrim – they had assumed that they were now out of the region.

"What do you think is beyond here?" Brom asked, tilting a sleepy head up at Lydia.

"A new story," she answered, sweeping his hair back from covering his eyes.

It was vague, but enough. Brom hadn't pressed her on what she would truly do after his days were gone – but he didn't worry for her – or even himself. As of right now, he had quality time – precious, valuable time at last – to spend in perfect, previously unattainable peace.

"Back when I was with Skulvar," Brom interrupted, feeling her fingers massage over behind him. "I used to look at the night sky and see Dragonsreach – and I always thought Dragonsreach was prettier... but seeing it all up close..."

Lydia smiled, lightly pulling him back more so that he was now close to resting on top of her.

"One day you're going to have to talk to me about all the things you've been through," she emphasized, curling his hair playfully. "Talk to me about all of the pain, the thoughts you had..."

Brom gulped. "And you'd be okay with that? Hearing me whine about things?"

She grinned, flashing him a look that instantly made him feel the need to relax more against her. He was staring at the stars now, gradually sinking into her pulling force as the cloud cover began to dimish – so that he was left alone and content in the brilliant night sky.

"Of course," she declared, voice full of reassuring pitches. "I am sworn to carry your burdens."

The dragon roared powerfully, soaring higher into the sky and far more quickly than before – leaving Skyrim, its people, and all of its darkness and light – behind.

And Brom wondered – perhaps partially out of boredom, partially out of sentiment – whether someone far away would stare up at the sky as well, and see the three of them as just another star – hastily retreating into the misty nothingness of night.

* * *

 **A/N (Ridiculously long once again, but for the final time)**

 _A hopefully fitting quote from Lydia's character to end with :) Hope the chapter title (and change in order of leather/ebony) felt significant - I tried to make it so!_

 _I'd like to say right now that this is technically the end of Unsung Bard Tales – chapter 50 will serve as an epilogue chapter, detailing Brom/Lydia's final moments together – but it won't add any real plot value, it's just an exploration into several disjointed pieces of time that they spend with each other before Brom's inevitable/implied end. Read if you wish for the nice fluff, Brom/Lydia moments, humor, lots of feels, etc... I hope everyone does! _

_But for all readers (those leaving now and those sticking around for the epilogue) - I'd like to thank all of the members of my audience for reading (and supporting by reviewing, favoriting, following) my story for so long! (Like six months? Wow...)_

 _I wrote this particular story for very personal reasons, because I had a strong desire to tell a story like this, in the Skyrim fanbase (I had played the game for years) – so I wasn't really as motivated to see views or reviews, etc... I had grown somewhat sick of stories that were showing huge battles and climactic clashes – I just wanted a small, focused, interpersonal story that didn't just end up being "Lydia ends up in love with the Dragonborn" - although I did end up using Lydia as a main character! (I guess in a way, she ended up in love too...)_

 _So when I realized people actually followed the stuff I was writing, I was shocked and immensely flattered – and to see all the feedback..._

 _Thank you. Really – people say it all the time and it's a cliche – but there's nothing like having people support, view, or heck – even completely hate the stuff you're doing :) I can't thank all of you enough. (Weirdly, I didn't get a single hater comment/p.m/review or anything – somewhat disappointed, would have been nice to have one of those... kidding. But not really. Maybe.)_

 _So what if you want to read more of my garbage – I mean, stories? Well, I have a few more (some oneshots, an ongoing, humor-focused fic that's quite different from this one) which are set up in different fanbases (spanning from popular t.v show The Office and to Batman, and many others) – just go through my profile and you'll find 'em (shameless plug)._

 _But whatever you want to do – thanks again for reading this far. It was exciting literally every day to write it, and exciting every day to see people read it._

 _And I've finally run out of things to say, except..._

 _Forge on._

 _~TW_

 _P.S: I might even publish chapter 50 tonight (really in the zone now) – but no promises... I will however, definitely begin re-reading every chapter (starting from one) and fix some grammar mistakes (I know I made a couple in recent chapters) just so new readers don't think I'm garbage instantly... :) This'll happen gradually..._


	50. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

 _ **Note: This writing style is a bit different from earlier chapters – it's more in the sense of broken "vignettes" into Brom and Lydia's time together after leaving Skyrim – hence, it occurs over a large timescale.**_

* * *

 _His First Thoughts_

She landed quite smoothly, while Brom was unable to really land all that well. The dragon, as per her summoning enchantment – was due to leave in a few seconds, so she spent the time standing by Brom's side, seeing the massive beast bow its head respectfully to Lydia (and reluctantly to Brom) – then launched off into the sky, leaving a wave of dust in its wake.

Lydia looked around.

They had flown for a few days, and consequently the environment was really quite different to what she had grown accustomed to in Skyrim – there were lush meadows and a bit of forest just jutting out at all edges of her field of vision – and an odd, earthy rock formed most of the ground. There wasn't really any grass, and Brom noted this straight away.

"No grass," he mentioned. "Weird, huh?"

She smiled, spotting a lake nearby. "Brom – come and see this."

She led him near the bank of the lake, picking up a handful of sand in her palm before unraveling her fingers gradually to let progressively wider streams of sand out. She urged him to take a closer look, preparing behind him.

"Look at how clear the water is here," Lydia emphasized, placing a hand reassuringly on his back. "Going off the map was a good idea, eh?"

He bent over more, staring at his reflection with interest.

 _Splash._

Lydia had shoved him just hard enough so that he couldn't react in time – but also gently enough as to make sure he didn't think she was being excessively mean to him.

She guffawed, seeing a untidy mess of black hair spring up from the surface, spitting water out with annoyance.

"I hate this place," Brom immediately declared.

 _Her First Meal_

He had already set up a magnificent shelter – or at least, as far as he could tell it was quite good. They had chosen a spot not unlike the various spots they had chosen while traversing Skyrim – close to trees, near a wall of rock or mountain – and always hidden from sight.

Not that there was anything to "sight" them, anyway.

Lydia had returned back from hunting with two dead chickens – and when he pressed for information as to where she obtained the animals, Lydia laughed and simply chalked it up to her natural instincts.

It tasted fantastic as well – and most of the flesh was still tender due to Lydia's excellent culinary skills.

"I never knew you that you were an amateur cook," Brom noted, tearing off a chunk of meat with his teeth.

Lydia raised her eyebrows. "Amateur?"

"Yeah."

"Take it back."

"No."

"Fine – suffer the consequences then."

"What consequ – "

She was already on top of him, trying to wrestle the chicken leg from his hand.

"Give it! You're ungrateful!"

"No!"

"Give it!"

"No!"

"You little – "

And she dug her fingers into his sides, wiggling them wildly as Brom broke out laughing – now faced with the choice to either let go of the chicken leg and let it fall into the ground, uneatable... or suffer through and somehow hope she tired herself out.

A minute in, and no signs of tiring from her.

"Lyd – Lyd – Lydia! Please! I – I didn't mean it!"

Brom doubted that she cared about what he said anyway.

 _Her First Sight_

It had happened. There were other people!

Not many. Lydia had guessed them to be around twenty or thirty men and women, but they were nomadic, just like herself and Brom.

They had seen them while taking a walk through a particularly inviting forest, filled with heavy tree cover and low-hanging fruit – just a few hundred paces away, in their own campsite. Brom was the first to insist that they go over and talk to them – but he lost interest as Lydia expressed neither support nor disapproval of this plan.

Instead, he was following her every step, watching her scour the low trees for any fruit.

"Lydia?"

"What?"

"Get me that one."

She stared in the direction of Brom's index finger – seeing a particularly ripe apple, peaked at least a hundred feet into the air.

"Really?" she asked again, slightly annoyed. "The tallest tree?"

Brom simply huffed. "Fine. Maybe I'll just climb it myself..."

"No," she cut across, lightly holding him back. "I got this."

"You never let me do any – "

 _Thud._

Lydia smacked the edge of the trunk with her palm, waiting hopefully for a moment before the top apple slowly wiggled and broke off the branch, landing softly in her open palm. Brom looked at her with annoyance.

"Cheater," he dismissed. "You're supposed to climb it."

Lydia simply chuckled before making her way towards a clearing, having to endure Brom constantly at her side – pestering her with accusations that she was a witch, a type of troll, or secretly commander of a sentient army of trees.

 _Her Rarest Smile_

They were on the move again. Lydia had guessed it to be at least at least a few weeks since landing in this uncharted territory, but Brom quickly grew bored of being constantly surrounded by warm sunlight and lush scenery – instead, he recommended charting forward.

The path that they took lead them through a few rolling hills, which gradually turned into snow-capped ground with sprouts of weeds in odd little areas. Trees became covered with snow, and their vision was drastically reduced. Lydia had obviously fashioned several articles of extra, heavier clothing for them both, using the same tree bark technique she had demonstrated before. Brom found this quite embarassing when she created a garment that very much made him look like a rabbit – leading him to accuse her of trying to make him look cute – to which Lydia denied the intention, but chortled silently and under her breath.

Perhaps before this traveling would have been frightening – when they were traveling for purpose, traveling to stay alive – but this was fun, enjoyable, and gave Lydia a chance to force Brom to talk about his feelings. Unfortunately, he had divulged too much.

"Those – sick – fucking – pieces of – " she went on, forcing her way across the icy ground. "If I ever see a Khajiit again, I'm going to tear – "

"It was so long ago, I regret telling you – the details of it all," Brom noted, playfully running ahead of her. "Keep up you old hag!"

She didn't appreciate the joke, still concerned with his mental state. "Thanks for telling me everything Brom – I know it must've been hard."

"Not really."

"What?"

"It's never hard to tell things to you."

He stopped, staring at her with a gentle expression. Lydia smiled broadly back at him, walking over to throw an arm around his shoulder – dragging him forward as she walked with him.

"People don't find me easy to talk to," Lydia observed, recalling all the interactions she had before. "They find me sort of – aloof, I guess."

"I don't think you're aloof."

"I know you don't."

"I think you're the warmest person I ever met."

She gave him a smile that he had seen only a few times when she was with him. Of course, Brom didn't remember Lydia smiling at all to most people – and the smiles that she gave him were vastly different than those superficial facial twitches she often gave even those she trusted in Skyrim.

But this one was different. It made his heart – not flutter, but calm itself. It was soothing to see her so content with herself, and even more content with him. She didn't need to tighten her grip on him, nor kiss him, or even wrap her arms around and give a strong hug – that rare smile spoke volumes about how devoted she was to him, and Brom always remembered every instance she gave him it.

 _His "Dream"_

"Lydia!"

"Oh my – hahahahaha!"

"Stop laughing!"

"Brom – Brom oh dear Talos make the laughing stop... hahahahaha!"

"Stop laughing at me! It was water, okay?"

They had rested near a somewhat warmer clearing for water a few minutes ago, but also adjacent to a frozen lake, hence the excuse. But, upon waking up – Lydia, who tried to wake Brom – immediately burst out laughing at seeing a small, but recognizably wet patch cover the front of his shorts... and at his crotch area.

"Brom – Brom – you're turning into – a man now... hahahaha!"

He was fuming with anger. "Lydia, it was water okay?! My jug probably just spilled over me when I was sleeping..."

"No – you woke up like – this," Lydia attempted, trying to avoid laughing. "How cute – you're finally growing up..."

"Lydia!"

"Fine – fine... what were you dreaming about them?"

Brom felt confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Lydia suppressed a snicker. "Perhaps mountains or caves, or dragons, or – "

He pressed on. "Or what?"

"Maybe women around your age, doing all sorts of _things_ to you..."

"LYDIA! STOP!"

But she couldn't.

 _Her First Time Teaching_

It was difficult to keep track of time.

They were somewhat near a small opening of a cave, resting for the night as Brom took the chance to flood Lydia with more pointless questions.

"Can you teach me how to dance?"

"No."

"Can you teach me how to sing?"

"No."

"Can you teach me how to cast a spell?"

"No – well..."

This caught her attention. Brom took the advantage, flashing his most innocent face at her.

"Please Lydia," he begged, widening his eyes as childishly and infant-like as possible. "Please..."

"Well – maybe a basic healing spell..."

"YES! VICTORY!"

She stood beside him, raising both of his hands up. She clenched his fists together, speaking softly to his ear.

"You have to feel the energy and conviction of your body restucturing wounds," Lydia urged, moving his hands up and down in rhythm. "You have to imagine skin reconnecting, and muscle reattaching."

Brom nodded – doing the particular movements.

It took hours.

But something happened.

Suddenly, as she was resting near a rock – nearly half-asleep... something happened. A golden ball of light emerged weakly from Brom's right hand, flashing against the cave walls before promptly disappearing.

"I DID IT! I DID IT! LYDIA, I DID IT!"

She waved away his screaming, trying to catch a nap – but it was in vain, as Brom immediately moved himself closer and knelt by her side, doing the same movements as vigorously and loudly as possible.

 _His First Decision_

They had found a band.

That's what Brom had called them.

Lydia would define them as a group of people, living in a walled off section of the frozen tundra – burrowed into a mountainous cavern, deep enough to take away most of the freezing cold but not too deep so that going outside would be a major walk.

Lydia had walked in first, with Brom in tow – and was pleasantly surprised to find a group that neither recognized her nor was hostile to them both. Instead, they offered them a place nearby – even allowing Lydia to procure a thick tent and twin bedrolls from their stock. Currently, she had set it up inside the cavern, reading a book Brom had pilfered from some nearby shelf.

"This is the coziest I've felt in months," Brom noted, recalling at least a few months of activity since leaving Skyrim. "Don't you think?"

"This is a good book," Lydia stated, ignoring him while pushing aside their now obsolete tree bark garments. "What is it?"

"I don't – "

"Of course."

Brom felt annoyed. "So? I don't read."

Lydia snickered. "Obviously."

She felt a warm head rest itself on her lap, rolling gently against her stomach to whine for attention. Lydia shook her head sarcastically before bringing a hand away from the book and through his now shorter hair – thankfully, she had persuaded him to let one of the camp members cut his hair earlier.

"I want to stay here for a while," he commanded, voice quiet but with authority.

She put the book down, briefly staring at him. "I'm doing whatever you want."

Brom smiled, pushing more against her as Lydia brought both hands down to run through his hair. She noticed that he had stopped complaining in embarassment every time she made some tangible move of affection towards him. Now, he seemed more appreciative of the times she visibly touched him – in fact, Brom seemed to be inviting many such moments recently.

Lydia frowned – she would have to talk to him more about his inner thoughts.

This was a bad sign.

 _His First Cough_

It had been a normal day thus far – until he started doing it.

They were in the cave still, secluded from the others by a brief rock clearing that was a bit farther from the entrance...

And he was practicing his spells – just as Lydia had taught him. His movements were unusually sublime and well-formed today as well, making the rude surprise all the more ruder.

Abruptly, he stopped moving and clutched at his chest, wheezing heavily and let out three distinct coughs.

Lydia's heart nearly ripped itself out of her chest from the force of the beating. Immediately she had shut it all down – picked him quite unnecessarily, and threw him into the tent again (which he protested of course) and fed up water and a steady diet of bread and milk for a few hours before the coughing fit went away.

Brom chalked this up to simple dust that was bothering him in the cave, but he as well as Lydia noted the shivering now intensifying in his own chest. She was also reliably certain that it had been well over six months since leaving Skyrim – but she hadn't told him this.

Lydia wasn't sure how hard she hugged him, but knew that Brom started trying to pull away in embarrassment as other people crowded around the tent.

But she didn't care.

 _His New Friends_

Lydia didn't like them.

Brom had taken to associating himself with a few more people than she had expected – notably, a young girl around his age and a group of boys that he used to hang around with. They often talked together and in secret, quickly retreating as Lydia approached – usually from a hunt or a session of helping out the cooks.

She wasn't jealous of them. Certainly not.

Maybe a little.

But the truth was that the more time he spent wandering off into the snowy woods with those questionable people – the less time she would have by his side, trying to embarrass him publicly – or perhaps make him laugh so hard he would nearly choke.

But now, she had cornered him – ironically, in a dimly lit corner of the cave – where Lydia knew she couldn't be seen by others.

"What are their names?" she demanded, pinning him against the wall. "Either tell me or die Brom."

"You, as usual, are being too damn crazy," he urged, struggling to break free. "They're just friends. I can't have friends now?"

She sighed. "Fine. But you come back from wherever you are – back to the tent. Before sundown."

Brom scoffed. "You're not that much older than me – to be able to enforce a curfew."

Lydia shrugged. "Fine. Then I'll just find you in the middle of the woods where you all hang out, and tell them all about that great _dream_ you had..."

Brom's jaw dropped. "Erm – okay, I'll be back before you sleep. How about that?"

Lydia frowned at the slight defiance, then grinned at him, keeping Brom in suspense as she maintained the pin.

"Lydia – can I go now?"

"Sundown or they know how _wet_ you got, Brom."

"Ergh! Fine! Sundown."

"Good girl."

 _Her Sign_

It happened suddenly. It happened too shockingly.

They had been in the middle of helping the others drag a killed bear off into the cave for food – and under the weight of pulling with five other people including Lydia – Brom had collapsed to the ground, clutching at his leg in pain.

She had tried a healing spell immediately, but to no avail. She could only sit there in agony as the others dragged the bear off, promising to return with better healing supplies. Brom was twitching for at least a few minutes, and Lydia could see the actual muscle flinch and contort oddly in the moonlight – it felt unnatural, it felt uneasy for him – and Lydia almost thought it was like the muscle was slowly wasting away underneath the skin.

"You've lost weight," she soothed, rubbing at his injured, exposed leg. "Are you eating right?"

Brom didn't answer, throwing his arms around her neck once more.

 _His Favorite Food_

She had found this information unexpectedly, almost as if Brom had accidentally stumbled upon giving her his favorite cuisine.

As it turned out, he greatly enjoyed burnt bread. In the tent, she had managed to pester him enough to confess why.

"What's with the bread?" Lydia noted, twirling a blackened piece of bread in her fingers. "How is this tasty?"

"I don't know," Brom agreed. "Can you make more?"

She sighed, producing another flame spell before grabbing a loaf of bread next to her – holding it over with a disagreeable stare.

"Not my fault you can't appreciate good cuisine," Brom noted. "Eight or so months away from Skyrim – and you still have lousy taste in food."

She dropped the burnt piece of bread, pouncing on him as savagely as a predator would devour its prey – and Brom never resisted much. She was quickly able to pin both of his arms down to the ground, and shut his mouth with a piece of burnt bread as she mercilessly dug her fingers into his exposed ribs again, wiggling frantically.

A couple of hours later, and he had still not learned his lesson.

Or maybe, in a way – he did.

 _His Next Step_

It happened fast again. And it was undeniably frightening.

While getting ready for bed Brom woke up in a bizarre coughing fit, clutching at his throat at it clenched itself around him and he was unable to breathe properly.

It took him mere seconds to grab at her arms, which were holding him on her lap with fearful apprehension. Lydia's eyes were filled with it – that same emotion of regret and guilt, hopelessness that Brom had seen many times before – but he would not let that happen again. Brom guessed it was close – almost ten months had passed, judging based on the timescales that the other campers had gratefully provided to him.

This was his life. He was going his own way.

"Let's leave," Brom urged, gently slurring his words as he began to lose consciousness. "Lydia – I want – to be alone with you."

She always agreed with him. Lydia began gently picking him – as one would cradle a newborn or a ridiculously expensive ornament – then dove out of the cave, running as far as her legs could carry her.

 _His Birthday_

Lydia hadn't prepared cake. She hadn't even prepared any food. But she did prepare a song.

They had taken refuge near a mountain, sitting close to the camping site but far enough so that no one could come looking and easily find them. After all – she wanted that privacy as well.

Lydia began to sing – she hadn't heard herself like this in decades.

"Brom – Brom – they tell of a hero named Brom, Ven – who came riding down from – "

He wasn't reacting to her words. He wasn't reacting to her touches. He was limp in her arms, tears of her own and his mixed and unrecognizable. Lydia clutched him closer to herself, softly patting down on that black hair, those brown eyes, and the frame – that even if had lost so much weight – was still hers.

 _His Happiness_

She had come back from hunting, and began immediately crying – or at least, letting tears flow gently across as she saw that same frame, beautiful and innocent as ever – lay still in the thick bedroll, eyes hazy.

Lydia moved closer, hugging the figure to her chest as she ran fingers coarsely over that youthful face.

His.

Brom was speaking still – but his words were slow and heavy. It seemed to be taking too much effort from him – so Lydia tried to make him stop, but he found the strength to wave her off.

"Lydia - " he began, smiling as her lips found their way to the exact same spot on his cheek she had greeted so many times before. " - what will you do now? After – after – after this is all said and done..."

She sniffled, unable to respond, keeping her lips in the same position, running a hand through his hair again.

Perhaps she could prolong this. Perhaps somehow she could wait out the time left – somehow focus all her energy on making each second as long as possible, relish every inch of him that she could mark as her's to the entire world...

"You – you know what – I'm afraid of now?" Brom sounded off, voice hoarse and raspy.

She shook her head, voice equally low and stuttering. "I – I don't know... Brom, please don't... please..."

"I was afraid of going alone," he noted, voice resilient for a moment. "But I'm not going alone – am I? You're here."

A sob. She couldn't even tell who it was from.

" - and that's all that matters, right?"

She sniffled, wiping away her own tears. "Right."

He smiled for a moment, bringing up one of his own withered hands to slide across her face. "Don't be – unhappy – be happy for me – if you really love me... This is exactly the life I wanted – a bit short, yeah... but you are – exactly the person I wanted in my life. So – I've got no regrets."

This was true. What he said had always been true. Lydia realized this suddenly, stopping her sobs as Brom simultaneously stopped breathing.

He was there – in her arms – kept warm by her _still_ slightly larger frame. But he wasn't _really_ there anymore – just the body... the flesh, or the skin and mish-mash of muscle...

Not Brom.

But that was all right with Lydia – because she would never forget, and like he said –

He was happy. And she ought to be happy for him. So she was.

But that didn't stop her from lingering just a bit longer with his body, soaking in every touch as another indescribable memory – a permanent fixture in her body, never to be discussed with anyone else or moved from its rightful place.

Her heart.

* * *

 **A/N**

 _Yes, it's sad but – I look of it as a happy-ish ending! Like Brom said – I really think that in the end, both characters got what they deserved – a happy, loving "relationship" with each other._

 _And that's all that should matter._

 _Thanks again to all who invested time into reading this story. And remember, no matter what happens –_

 _Always._

 _Always._

 _Always forge on._

 _~TW, signing off._


End file.
